Simply Neurotic
by Darkness Approaches
Summary: Hermione finds herself marrying Draco so she can spy on him for the Order - but she quickly finds herself regretting the decision. The war rages on, and she must reconcile her two lives. *A dark Draco/Hermione story*
1. Questionable Fidelity

Well hello! This is my first go at a Harry Potter fanfic. I hope that you guys enjoy it. Any feedback is of course appreciated, and I feel like I should warn you – I have a penchant for darker themes.

Thanks to the fabulous FMD for betaing this chapter. Much love to her.

Disclaimer: I am not making any money by writing this, and all of the characters that you recognize belong to J.K. Rowling. This disclaimer stands for the rest of the chapters in this piece of fiction as well.

_Voldemort is trying to gain control. Hermione is working for the Order organizing missions to stop him. The Malfoy family's allegiance is questionable so in order to get more information, they come up with a plan to marry him to a certain Muggleborn witch. The consequences of that are recorded, here._

* * *

"How was it received?" Lucius asked, though he likely already knew the answer if his bitter tone was any indication.

"They were thrilled to receive the donation, Lucius, but you must have expected they wouldn't be too happy about its origin," Kingsley answered bluntly. "You must have anticipated some back lash once they found it was _you_ that donated the money, whatever the amount or intention."

Lucius nodded his head and tapped his cane against the outside of his dragon leather shoe for a moment. Calculating. "It seems I can do _nothing_ to convince the rest of the Wizarding World that the Malfoy family has separated itself from the Dark Lord." He closed his eyes briefly. "I'm growing impatient, Shacklebolt."

The large man laughed harshly. "You may need to reconsider your approach then. I don't think anything short of marrying your son to a muggleborn is going to restore your image, Lucius. Even then, people will still maintain their suspicions," he said quietly. "You know better than anyone that old prejudices are hard to destroy."

Lucius' lips drew back into a deep frown.

Kingsley considered the man standing tensely beside him. A couple of summers ago, Harry Potter had come out of hiding after spending six months hunting for the key to defeating Voldemort. Convinced that the answer lay within the ancient walls of Hogwarts, Harry, Hermione, and Ronald had enlisted the staff and students to search for the mythical Diadem of Helga Hufflepuff.

Voldemort learned of Harry's whereabouts and laid siege to the school. The battle that ensued was enormous in scale and cost hundreds of lives – and with neither side willing to give up any ground, the outcome had looked uncertain, until the actions of Lucius Malfoy and his son, Draco turned the tide in the favor of the members of the Order of the Phoenix.

But that battle, while won, only cemented each sides' resolve.

With the Diadem destroyed, Voldemort had not since been seen above ground. Regardless, his shadow loomed large over the whole of Great Britain – wizards and muggles alike felt his insidious pull.

There was a great deal of people that owed their lives to Lucius Malfoy. But it was impossible to forget the evil he took part in. The lives he had destroyed. It was possible that there was no amount of good, no sacrifice the Malfoys could make, that would restore the public's faith in them.

"Owl me if you need anything, Lucius. Otherwise, I suggest you stay as far from the Ministry as you can." He paused as he looked over his shoulder. "You still make people around here nervous, you know. And it certainly doesn't do us any favors that there's a story in the paper every time you come near."

Lucius scowled, but then schooled his features and nodded his head in return. "I'll be in touch, Shacklebolt." Lucius inclined his head towards Kingsley, then wheeled around, knowing his way through the halls of the building well enough. Leaning heavily on his silver cane, he held his head high as he took one long stride; his left leg following heavily behind him.

Kingsley shook his head. The sacrifices they've all made – some, have paid more heavily than others.

XXX

"You asked to see me, Kingsley?" Hermione pushed the office door fully open.

"Ah, Miss Granger. Yes, please do come in and take a seat." He gestured to the chair opposite his desk, and watched as she silently cast a few nonverbal charms on his door, giving them complete privacy. It was standard procedure these days, even within the Ministry walls. There were no chances taken, no details overlooked.

Kingsley glanced over Hermione quickly. She looked tired, as they all did. Fighting to maintain control had taken its toll on all of them. The dark purple circles under her eyes and her slight form was indication that Hermione was indeed feeling the stress of her diligent research and field work. Her missions for the Order were, of course, secret – but Kingsley was privy to _some_ of the more delicate information. She was absolutely essential to daily operations, which is why he could hardly believe what he was about to ask her.

He lamented once again the decision the Order had come to. The loss of Hermione Granger from the inner workings of their operations would be a blow to the cause. But who was he to argue?

They wouldn't admit it, but they were gambling. They had rolled the dice and decided that a distinct change in strategy was what was needed. They had barely been able to keep the madness at bay for the last few years, and that was largely due to Hermione's keen mind – despite what McGonagall may think.

The old woman had apparently chosen a different champion, pinning her hopes on Harry Potter.

But really, pinning all your hopes on one individual was a desperate, dangerous proposition.

But again, who was he to argue?

Split up the trio and take the offensive – _that_ was her master plan.

Kingsley sighed heavily.

Hermione was beginning to shift uncomfortably under his intense gaze, so he removed it from her and focused instead on the files on his desk in front of him. What he was about to suggest was going to be hard for her to swallow. It was dangerous in the extreme and nearly impossible to achieve. But that was what she was good at. She was simply the best at making things happen, despite the odds.

"Kingsley?" she asked, quietly. "Has something happened?"

"No, no," he answered firmly.

A long pause ensued.

Somehow he just couldn't conjure up the strength to say the words. They were lodged in his throat – restricting his breathing, and all he could think was, _this is all my fault_.

"Just spit it out already, Kingsley. What's happened?"

He nearly laughed, she was certainly quick tempered these days but he could hardly blame her. "We have had long discussions about this, Hermione. And we've come to the conclusion that you are our best option for the task I am about to present to you." He paused to study her expression, but then averted his eyes once more. Guilt flooded him.

Hermione raised a single brow at his words, straightening in her seat. She regarded him critically, probably wondering what it was that had him so uneasy.

Good news came in small tokens, but bad news abounded.

Kingsley sighed once more.

He had her undivided attention. He saw the shift in her demeanor. He saw how her brilliant mind picked up the scant information he had given to her and was already processing the possibilities. He saw her interest, and realized that she was approaching this from an academic standpoint already. She was approaching it logically. Like she would a difficult charm or potion.

That's what they'd hoped for.

"There's an opportunity for us to gather information on a number of pureblood families and determine their loyalty and allegiance; possibly gain their backing. But it requires that we insert somebody into the household as a spy." He watched as her mind processed the information. He could practically see the ideas flit across her eyes before her.

Hermione's hand came up to cup her chin thoughtfully, her eyes alight with possibility.

There was, of course, countless ways of going about getting information – some _far_ more dangerous than others. He knew that Hermione was intuitive enough to recognize that this was nothing like previous missions. They were thinking outside the normal boundaries on this one – their solution was of the more enterprising sort.

Kingsley pursed his lips and leaned forward onto his elbows. "What I'm about to tell you cannot leave this room, do you understand?"

A quick nod of Hermione's head sufficed. Although, judging from her expression, they both understood that nearly everything that was spoken about these days was to be kept silent. He didn't need to remind her of that.

"I'll admit to you right now – this is all my fault. All my doing. Lucius Malfoy has been attempting to get his name back into good standing, as I'm sure you're aware. He was here the other day as a matter of fact, and I told him that the chances of the Malfoy name being returned to its prior status are slim to none."

Hermione gave a very unladylike snort. "For him to even think donating loads of money would just make people forget, is crazy. The whole lot of them are scum. Evil as Voldemort himself, if you ask me."

"Yes, well," Kingsley paused, turning over a file in his large hands. "Be that as it may, they have played a significant role in postponing the Dark Lord's rise." He cast her a heavy look. "And you and I both know you owe _your_ life to the young Mister Draco Malfoy."

It was a low blow, he knew that, but he could already see that she wasn't going to be particularly amenable to this new plan.

Hermione mashed her teeth together audibly. "Regardless, a few good deeds do not acquit a person of a life–time _full_ of underhanded and ghastly doings," she snapped.

That flash of anger – of pure malicious spite, made Kingsley realize the futility of the mission they're be sending her into. It would, quite literally, be the death of her.

He would take on McGonagall's wrath, but he would not ask Hermione to do this. It was simply too much to ask a young woman who had already sacrificed so much.

But even while he was secretly pleased that the mission was laid to rest before it even began, another part of him despaired over the hatred and anger that fuelled Hermione's words. There was a time, not too long ago, when Hermione might have considered forgiveness and displayed her open-mindedness – but not now, not after everything. This is what war did to people. This is the cost of their survival. Anger and hatred and prejudice. Vengeance is what they all craved, and nothing short of death and devastation would appease them – but only for a time.

Kingsley shook his head slowly. He began to gather up the files on his desk, loathing the idea of searching for another within their ranks to take on this burden. McGonagall would not let this opportunity pass, he knew that much. They'd simply have to find someone better suited for the mission.

Because while Hermione was certainly the best candidate, there was nothing he could do – they'd be asking her to quell her hatred for her childhood tormentor; to gain his trust.

The task, put in those terms, seemed even more impossible.

But he should have known that Hermione would not back down when she recognized a challenge.

"Don't you dare, Kingsley. Don't you dare just shove me out of here. You may have gotten friendly and cozy with Lucius Malfoy, but I for one cannot forget what he and that entire lot are capable of." The name seemed to leave a disgusting taste in her mouth, and she quickly licked her lips. "Now, tell me what it was that happened, and what this mission I've been chosen for is all about." She now stood leaning over the table, her hand firmly planted on the files he had been attempting to organize.

He had to admit that he was quite taken aback at her jab, but chose instead to overlook it. He considered her for a moment. It was unpleasant business either way he looked at it.

"Fine," he ground out quietly. "The mission Miss Granger–" he leaned over the table closer to her, looking the part of a conspirer, "—is for you to enter the Malfoy Manor under the pretense of marrying Draco."

He was expecting a reaction similar to the one a few moments ago, but was baffled when all Hermione did was glare at him and avert her eyes to his shoulder. He witnessed the color drain from her face rapidly, and was about to suggest that she sit down, when she began to laugh. It wasn't the laugh he was used to. It wasn't the warm, tinkering laugh he had heard less and less frequently over the past few years. It was devoid of mirth. Devoid of humor.

She collapsed into the chair behind her, holding her sides. And he found himself frozen at her behavior.

Hermione looked at him through teary eyes. "You cannot be serious, Kingsley. For a moment there, I thought you were honestly suggesting that I marry that prat, Draco Malfoy."

The silence stretched between them. Their eyes locked. The smile slowly slipped from her face as she took in the seriousness of his expression.

After a few moments, she seemed to conclude that he was, indeed, serious. Studying his features intently, she finally managed to ask him the question he had been dreading. "You said this was your fault. How exactly did this come about?"

"I had suggested jestingly to Lucius that the only way for his name to be returned to good standing would be for him to marry off his son to a muggleborn." He returned to his seat. "I honestly could not have expected for him to consider it seriously, let alone make an offer."

Hermione stared blankly at her hands. "What do I tell Viktor?" she asked, seriously. "And who else knows about this? You said you had been discussing it with others. Lupin? McGonagall?"

Kingsley paused. "Yes. The offer was made only yesterday, so we have been discussing it extensively since then. And as far as Krum goes, I can't tell you how to handle that situation, Hermione. But you can't tell him you're going undercover. Only a few privileged people will be able to know about it."

Hermione closed her eyes. "And they asked you to deliver the news?" she said ruefully.

Kingsley scoffed. "Yes, well. This is somewhat my fault, and with the recent redeployment," he paused to make sure Hermione understood. "It was me, or McGonagall, and I think we all know that you have no great love for our illustrious leader."

Hermione choked out a laugh.

Kingsley watched the various emotions play across her face. "You've got about a week to decide, Hermione. That's when Lucius wants an answer. So don't rush it, but everything you need is in these files, here. You can take them home and look them over. They include the legal documents that were drafted up that both you and Draco will have to sign."

"And what if I choose to not take the mission?"

Kingsley smiled at her kindly. "I'm sure McGonagall has a backup plan."

Hermione sighed. "Meaning she'll choose someone else, who's unlikely to make it out of that snake-pit alive."

Her words echoed through Kingsley hollowly, _unlikely to make it out alive_.

He forced a bitter smile. "Have a little faith, Hermione."

She was suddenly shaking her head ruefully. "You know this isn't going to work, Kingsley. Draco will never go through with marrying me. Marrying a muggleborn might not be too bad, but considering the amount of loathing and hatred we have for one another, I doubt it will work. There's a lot of… history there."

"We'll see about that. A notice was sent to Lucius this morning, right before you came over to let him know who we had in mind for Draco to marry. I think you underestimate Lucius' desire to return to his former place in society. And I think that you can be fairly sure that he is going to be making this decision, not Draco."

"An arranged marriage then? How ironic. Just one of the many pillars of the pureblood society that I adore." Hermione snatched one of the files from his desk and glanced through the contents. "How long does the marriage have to last?" she asked hopefully.

Kingsley gave a shrug. "As long as we need it to. The only thing that concerns me is that both you and Draco will have to consent to a divorce. There won't be any room for magical coercion. So that's something you have to consider." He watched her carefully, and noted that her face had regained its healthy parlor – well, it had regained _some_ color, but her skin had become pale from all of her late nights and work for the Order. Hermione was far from the bright and radiant young woman that she used to be. Her countenance, like everyone else who was working undercover to maintain normalcy, had shifted in the times of desperation and fear.

He continued. It was necessary to make sure she had all of the facts. "More importantly, though, is that we need you to watch Draco – carefully. The Malfoys may not be directly involved in anything illegal, but they still associate with the same people that clung to them before they switched sides. But don't mistake the situation, Hermione. It will be your most dangerous mission to date. Not only are you going into the home of your old enemies, but you're going to be exposed to people we know are involved in the Dark Arts. It is going to be risky and you are going to have to use every bit of wit and cunning you possess. We aren't going to be able to offer you much protection without arousing suspicion."

Hermione nodded her head once more. "But don't you think they'll know that you've inserted me in there for the purpose of spying on them? I'm the best friend of Harry Potter. I'm close to a good number of aurors and I'm a member of the Order. How do you expect them to trust me?" she countered.

"That's just it. Having you, specifically, marry into the Malfoy family will afford them some legitimacy. Although, I think there will be some skepticism – and perhaps even some fear that the Dark Lord has gotten to you. _But_ that's where your superb acting skills are going to come in handy. It will only take people a little while to realize that the loyal, courageous, and brilliant Hermione Granger is entering into a marriage with Draco Malfoy as a way to secure the family's allegiance and support." He said with what he hoped seemed like sincere enthusiasm.

He watched her think it over, and gave her the time she needed to process everything. But she still looked troubled. Leaning forward, he urged her on. "Hermione, you can pull this off. The public trusts you. They trust the Golden Trio." He allowed himself a small laugh at that, and was pleased when a smile graced her lips.

"You are the most brilliant witch of our age. Don't mistake that. Your regular articles in the _Daily Prophet_ give people hope. Your reports of progress and constant insistence on a nearing end to this war make people feel hopeful."

She seemed more at ease and was idly running her hands up and down the legs of her robes. To say that Kingsley admired her was an understatement. He meant every word he said. The world would be a much different place if it weren't for Hermione Granger. He was certain of that. It was because of her constant vigilance, and her ability to stay one step ahead of everyone else that made her unstoppable.

"So of course the Malfoys will be aware that you are part of the Order – most people suspect it, even though they can't exactly prove it, any more than they can prove that such a thing as the Order of the Phoenix exists. But we have to tread carefully if you intend to do this." He watched her carefully and found that she had her lips set in determination, and her shoulders were once again forced back in a more confidant position.

"While the Malfoys are going to suspect that you are spying on them for the Order, you need to convince them that you have no interest in what they are up to, only in what they can provide our side with, and promoting better relations between the pureblood families and the rest of the world."

Hermione smiled at his motivating words. "Well, Kingsley, you speak as though you think I've already made my mind up on this." She flashed him a shrewd look accompanied by a modest smile. "You know just as well as I do that this won't be an easy decision for me. Viktor only moved here six months ago, and his only reason for doing so was to be with me. _That_ is the part I'll have a hard time reconciling." She let out an exasperated sigh. "Who am I trying to kid here? Like not having someone in my life would have made the idea of attaching myself to _Draco Malfoy_ any easier." She threw Kingsley a dark look. "I absolutely abhor that slimy git."

She gestured suddenly to the stack of files on his desk. "Let me have those. I've got a meeting with Harry and Luna at nine." She kept it at that. The less anybody else knew, the better. And that included Kingsley.

He piled them into her arms and then walked her to the door. His hand rested on the knob. "Remember, you can't tell anyone about this discussion, Hermione. It's imperative that everyone thinks you're doing this for the sake of _support_ and _unity_," he stressed.

She raised an eyebrow at his assumption. "You mean _if_ I decide to go through with this?" She smiled at him good-humoredly. "I've got one week, right?" At the nod of his head Hermione gestured for him to open the door. "Good. I'll be back to you before then, I'm sure."

* * *

Thanks for reading! On to chapter two!


	2. Of Ghosts and Demons

AN: I feel I should warn you. This is certainly not a nice and neat love story. This chapter in particular is harsh. The story I've got in mind is set during a bleak time, and it's attempting to bring together two people that have been mortal enemies since the beginning. Will it get better? Yes. But not straight away. It's going to take time, so I hope no one is disappointed, because I think you'll find that it becomes something spectacular.

Special thanks once again to my beta FMD. This chapter has been reworked and perfected thanks to her.

* * *

**Simply Neurotic**

**Chapter 2**

**Of Ghosts and Demons**

The sudden surge of energy Hermione had felt as she left Kingsley's office that morning, files in hand, was nowhere in sight now.

She frowned and pinched the bridge of her nose. The files Kingsley had given her were full of surveillance reports and possibly every single auror memo linked to the Malfoys over the last few years. It was absurdly tedious. Not to mention a waste of time.

There was no hard evidence to suggest that the Malfoys were back to their old ways. Nothing at all.

Except…

Except she just knew Malfoy was up to something.

She smiled to herself. She sounded like Harry. But she had to admit, he was usually right.

She rubbed at her eyes for a moment, and began to contemplate the situation she found herself in. She really couldn't understand the chain of events that had led her to this. She pulled her left hand up to her face and examined her ring finger, imagining what it would be like to have a band on it.

With everything they were living through over the last few years, marriage had never seemed likely – had never really been an option. At least not a marriage in the traditional sense.

There were still plenty of people who had tied the knot: Neville and Luna, Ginny and Seamus, Fred and Angelina – but they were bittersweet unions, made during a desperate time.

Normal things, like family gatherings and baby showers and relaxing vacations, just hadn't been possible; still weren't possible.

And now, she realized how easily she had accepted that. How easily she had traded late nights out on the town for late nights of subterfuge, the dance of life, for the dance of death.

But oddly, she didn't feel as though she were missing out. Not once did she regret not leaving with her mother and father down south to Australia.

This is where she belonged, and this is where her life was at. She was satisfied with that.

It was just an odd turn of events that would lead her to marriage, now of all time, and to Draco Malfoy no less.

Hermione pursed her lips. Truthfully, the idea of spying on Malfoy wasn't what bothered her. She would jump at the opportunity if she thought it would get them something useful. But if everything was broken down and stripped naked, the truth would remain: she simply had a hard time stomaching the idea of getting married. It was absurd, really.

She had been in a position to do so years ago – and to a much better man than Draco Malfoy. He was her school sweetheart. Her everything. But marriage left such a bitter taste in her mouth, and she avoided any mention of it.

It had destroyed them. _Destroyed him_.

While their friends were running off to the alter to make the best of their uncertain lives, she couldn't stomach the idea.

Ron could hardly stand to look at her now. And that hurt the worst. The fact that they had been through hell and back, but now had an ocean between them. An ocean filled with hateful words. Spiteful, fearful, jealous words.

She sighed heavily. Things used to be so much simpler. So much easier. Where had those days gone? The days of Chocolate Frogs and love potions. Days where the only thing they had to fear was their O.W.L.s.

She reminisced about her time back at Hogwarts. Back when magic had the power to make her dream of possibilities, and not cringe with horrid expectation. When it conjured thoughts of mystical creatures and Quidditch. But now…

Magic was used to kill, torture, and destroy.

She supposed everything had that possibility.

She leaned against the arm of the couch and closed her eyes for a moment, wondering what her friends were up to, but knowing that they all had their secrets. They all ran their separate lives, secret missions.

She only hoped they were staying safe. That they were being careful, and out of the enemy's hands.

XXX

_It was an odd feeling. Like she was falling, but it was slower, as though she was suspended in a thick fog. She felt herself kicking out, and then she was suddenly running, her feet pounding the wet surface of the street. _

"_Harry!" she shouted, seeing him standing with his back to her. She ran even harder, trying to reach him. "Harry," she gasped again, coming up behind him. Her breath was coming out in thick clouds with each unsteady breath she expelled. The light was dimmest where they were, and she could only just make out the side of his face._

_He pulled a cloak tight around himself and drew the hood up over his head. _

"_No," a familiar voice drawled._

_The shock that coursed through her came unexpectedly, and when he turned to her with that damnable smirk on his face, she felt her knees become weak._

"_Malfoy," she gasped out, clutching her sides. She felt wounded. Betrayed. But she couldn't fathom why that was so unexpected. The feeling of falling once again began to overtake her and she was looking up at him as he stood atop a cliff's edge. She could hear the violent water churning behind her, the deafening sound getting louder and louder, but it wasn't able to drown out his laugh. His low, coarse laugh that reverberated through her body, shaking her._

Hermione bolted up out of her dream and grasped her head. The pain was undeniable. Aching and throbbing like she had never experienced before. Something wasn't right. It was wrong in fact, dead wrong.

The laughter continued to reverberate through her, and she was so lost in herself that it took moments longer than it should have for her to realize it was no longer in her head, but rather, right next to her.

Her eyes snapped open, and she lowered her arms, bringing her head away from her bent knees. She could feel her face drain of color as their eyes met.

"Sleep well?" Draco asked quietly. The same loathsome smirk on his lips as had been in her dream.

It made sense, for some reason, for him to be sitting there. Sitting in her living room, comfortably reclined in her plush armchair.

But her mind was still full of that fog that had encased her dream. It had latched onto her and followed her into consciousness.

But she understood. Looking into his cloudy, impenetrable eyes, she knew why he was there. She just didn't know how. And the fact that he had her in such a vulnerable position, as it were, under his scrutinizing gaze made her feel fear and . . . anticipation.

She had watched him through the last several years, ever since he and his father had defected to their side at that fateful battle at Hogwarts. She had witnessed his evolution from a distance, knew from reputation what type of man he'd become.

She recognized Draco for what he was. A dangerous man. A brilliant mind. And more to the point, a worthy adversary. She understood the seriousness of their predicament. Draco was a man of design. And the fact that his designs included _her_, was frightening. But she would be lying if she said she wasn't eager to prove herself. Especially after their last encounter.

And now, here they were – and he had her trapped. Her wand was on the coffee table and she had no way of reaching it before he got to her. The distance was too great.

Just brilliant.

It must have seemed absurd, to have her simply stare at him, mouth slightly agape. But he made no hint of thinking so.

The fog finally broke, and Hermione was able to process the situation. Draco must have seen her contemplating the dive for her wand, because he made the decision for her, and lunged at her.

Hermione hardly had time to spring for the coffee table before he was on her. He gave her false hope when her hand brushed the end of her wand, only to be wrenched backwards and thrown into the end table. She gasped out, but quickly came to her senses.

She was used to this game. Marriage, she was afraid of. But this? This was what she was good at.

Without even looking at where he was, Hermione hurled her body in his general direction, pleased when one of her fists met his face with a satisfying smack. Flesh meeting flesh.

Draco grunted, and was caught off guard by her immediate rebound. He stumbled backwards, but grabbed her wrist as he went down. The glass of the coffee table cracked under his weight, but completely shattered when she landed on him. It exploded with the force of a destructive spell, and the shattered glass flew in all directions.

Draco cursed aloud for a moment before setting his murderous gaze on Hermione; she began to climb over to where her wand was laying amongst the debris, but hardly got far before Malfoy's arms wrapped around her waist and slung her across his body and onto the floor –away from him and the glass that was biting into their hands and knees.

She landed with a smack on the cold surface and he was on her in an instant, his body massive and unyielding against her. She began to struggle fiercely with him, slapping, kicking, punching, and scratching anything she could lay her hands on. Years of bottled up fury came ripping and clawing to the surface, and she took it out on him. Took it out on the only person around because she knew he could take it.

And because he deserved it. For all the years he had made her miserable and tormented her friends. The bastard deserved it.

The humor that was on Draco's face the moment she had awoken was nowhere to be seen as he wrestled with her. She noticed from the start that he was avoiding any devastating blows – which only served to make her fight that much more viciously. He was obviously just trying to fight her into submission – and she'd be damned if she went down that easily. And that thought brought up another question: what was he planning on doing with her, once he got her under his control?

She didn't want to contemplate the possibilities. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. If there were ever a time to fight as though her life depended on it – this was it.

But she could see, even now, how close he was to losing control – how precariously close to the edge she was pushing him as she fought him with no intention of holding back.

He snarled after a particularly vicious jab to his neck. Tensing, he made a mad swipe for her wrists, attempting to straddle her – likely knowing that his weight would be enough to subdue her small form.

Hermione panicked as he grabbed hold of her arms and moved to get on top of her. Her mind reacted mechanically.

She brought her knee up and felt it connect forcefully between his thighs.

He grunted and threw her body away from his, as though she were on fire.

He certainly hadn't expected that.

Hermione scrambled to get to her feet at his momentary distraction, but felt herself falling to the ground once more. Her head connected with the hardwood floor of her living room, and was dazed into inaction as he grabbed hold of her ankle and dragged her back to him.

"Enough of this," Draco ground out.

He was on his knees beside Hermione and roughly turned her over so she was resting on her back. He was eclipsing the light from her view, so all she saw was his angry, blood splattered face. She oddly felt proud at the sight. Proud that she had hurt him. Proud that she had marred that pale, immaculate face of his.

Her eyes met his. She saw the hate there. Witnessed the disgust and loathing. They were familiar things. Almost comforting, in a way. They weren't unexpected or foreign to her. It was almost as though those things were the constants. In a war where everything was unknown, where everything could change in an instant, the hate was always there.

She regarded the man before her as a worthy adversary. As a competent enemy. Her childhood nemesis. She smiled suddenly which caught him off guard. She gathered her strength and thrust up from her position on the floor, aiming her elbow at his jaw and feeling it connect.

His fist then connected with her face with savage strength, and she felt, rather than heard her neck crack at the force of it. The blood was pounding in her ears. She didn't expect the next move and was left gasping painfully for breath at his swift punch to her gut.

Effective. Efficient. That was Draco Malfoy.

She fell onto her side, trying desperately to get some air into her lungs. She could feel the tears spring into her eyes involuntarily and she doubled up, clutching her stomach. She could make out his boots stepping over her and walking to her fireplace, but she didn't have the strength to stop him. But the will. She certainly had the will to kill him in that moment.

She grasped at the rug under her and tried to steady herself. Control her breathing – but the pain – the pain was excruciating.

She watched helplessly as Draco picked up the only photo she possessed. The only photo she had of anyone.

A young Harry, Ron, and Hermione waved out at her from the photo Malfoy held in his large hand, scrutinizing it. Her heart plummeted with the photo as it fell to the floor, the frame cracking.

Hermione let out a groan as he carelessly walked on it as he strode around the rest of the room, searching for something. What, she couldn't tell. But either way she was helpless to stop him.

The pain was beginning to cede, but she could only just manage to move. She wasn't going anywhere right now, though. She knew that. _He_ knew that.

So she laid there on the cold floor with her eyes shut as Draco went through her possessions and tore through her life. She couldn't stand to watch him do it.

She could hear him when he began to go through her room, tossing her drawers aside, and sifting through things in her closet. But none of that mattered. It could be replaced. Could be fixed.

He had already destroyed the one thing that mattered most to her. She slowly opened her eyes to look across the ground at the photo that had landed perfectly in her line of sight. No doubt on purpose. She only hoped the photo wasn't completely destroyed.

She failed to notice when the noise ceased, so she wasn't expecting him to be back so soon.

Malfoy gripped her around the waist, and lifted her as though she weighed nothing, setting her in the armchair that he had been sitting in when she had first woken up. She cringed and tensed, waiting for the pain to heighten – waiting for the impending assault.

Hermione opened her eyes after a few moments, uncertain of what would meet her.

Malfoy was crouched in front of her, his eyes level with hers. He looked more subdued. Calmer. More like the stoic, emotionless boy she had once known.

Their eyes locked and she finally found her voice, although it sounded raw – unused. "Surveying the damage?" she snapped.

He only smirked at her. "Just wondering if I've done any irreversible harm." He nodded his head briefly. "I've never known you to be quiet."

Her glare darkened at that. So that was how he wanted to play this, huh? Just like back in school? With the cheap shots and immature jokes?

"Did you find what you were looking for?" She nodded her head towards her bedroom door.

He shrugged and licked his lips. Contemplating. "Maybe," he responded dryly.

They both sat there, simply looking at one another. His gaze was contemplative, while hers was murderous.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she finally asked, tired of the strained silence. He obviously didn't want her dead – not yet at least, and he had no intentions of kidnapping her, otherwise he wouldn't linger so long in her home. Unless he was confident that they wouldn't be disturbed. He was arrogant enough to assume so.

There was only on real reason why he'd suddenly show up at her home after years of no contact whatsoever. Hermione waited for him to get on with it, her patience and strength running low.

Draco didn't immediately respond, instead, he dropped her gaze and looked around the room, and finally his eyes fell on the files that were scattered beneath the glass on the floor. The confidential auror files on him and his father.

He looked back at her and raised an eyebrow. Curiosity evident on his bloodied features.

She felt panic surge through her and calculated her chances of getting to the files before he saw them. Impossible. She simply had no fight left in her right now.

Hermione thought quickly as he stood before her. "How did you find me? And how did you manage to get in here?" she asked quietly. She had been avoiding this. She feared she already knew the answer.

Malfoy stopped mid stride. He whipped his head back to look at her, his smirk of superiority flawlessly in place. He reached into his pocket slowly, and she tried to back away into the chair without success. Malfoy chuckled, low and throaty at her response, before he dragged the item in front of her face.

Not a wand, but a key. Long, with a peculiar shape.

She gasped. "That's—"

He cut her off. "Krum's, I know."

Her mouth twisted into an ugly grimace and she felt the knot tighten in her throat. "How?" she managed to gasp out. Tears once again threatened to come to the surface. She was on the verge. He had killed Viktor. Draco had murdered him because of her. She shook her head. "You bastard." she croaked, in pain.

Draco seemed to enjoy her pain – he seemed to revel in the sight of her wounded and tearful in front of him. He seemed to relish the fact that he was the one inflicting this upon her.

"What now?" she screamed. "What do you want Malfoy? Kill me already if that's what you're here for. Because I swear that I'll murder you if you don't finish me now." Her voice was strangled, and her hands moved to cup her face, rather than her aching stomach.

"Calm yourself, Granger. I haven't killed your darling boyfriend," Draco snapped at her. He threw the key into her lap.

She stilled in her seat. "Don't. That key was enchanted. Only Viktor was supposed to be allowed to use it. The only way it worked for you is if Viktor's dead," she choked the words out, but she couldn't help but feel hope at what he said.

He regarded her with an odd expression. "Yes I know. Lifted that from him two days ago when he left here. It's taken me that long to find out how to get through the enchantments." He sounded slightly miffed by the thought.

Hermione simply leveled him with a dark glare. Viktor had gone on an assignment so he wouldn't be back for several more days, so there was no way of knowing until then.

Her eyes suddenly flashed to Draco's hands, dangling limply by his sides. She felt elation run through her at the proof of his words. The key was cursed, and anyone who used it would sustain dreadful burns. And there on his right hand was the proof. His palm seemed to be healing, but his pinky and ring finger were still a ghastly green color. Her eyes darted up to meet his.

Draco approached her once more, leaning forward on the arms of the chair. "But now, I'm curious. Perhaps you can answer this for me." His expression was wiped clean of his previous smirk. "Why is it Hermione Granger and her boyfriend Viktor Krum, don't share a room?"

She reacted as though he had slapped her. Of course he would notice. He had just spent the better part of twenty minutes tearing through her home. But why did he want to know? And what exactly should she tell him?

Hermione sat in silence, contemplating what to tell him when he gave her chair a rough shake, his patience running thin.

"What do you expect me to say, Malfoy?" she spat.

He laughed in her face then. "The truth wouldn't hurt." He sneered at her, apparently amused by her discomfort.

Hermione frowned trying desperately to figure out _why_ he wanted to know. It couldn't be simple curiosity. What leverage would she be giving him by telling the truth?

Draco grabbed the front of her robes suddenly, angry that she was evading the question.

"Alright," she bit out, making her decision. She mashed her teeth together and clenched her eyes shut. "Viktor and I are just _roommates_," she conceded.

"Since when?"

Her eyes popped open. "Since—" she shrugged her shoulders and shook her head in frustration. "—Since he moved back here."

Malfoy looked at her with disbelief. "He was never your boyfriend, then?" he asked slowly, as though she were stupid.

"No," she ground out.

"Then why the ruse? Even that dimwit Weasley you were with before seems to think it's true."

Her eyes flashed at the mention of Ron. "That's none of your business, Malfoy," she spat his name out. Why on earth was he trying to start a conversation about her love life? He had just gotten done dealing her a beating, after all.

Malfoy silently assessed her for a moment, likely trying to figure out if she was lying or not. Hermione met his gaze head on; watched as his eyes lingered on her face, her lips. Self-consciously, she licked them, tasting the blood that had dried there.

Malfoy looked away for a moment, his platinum hair falling into his face.

"Granger, I've come to warn you." He looked at her once more with a calculating gaze.

She was stunned by his abrupt change in tone and direction.

It was her turn to laugh. She gestured around the room and then to her face. "You call _this _a warning, Malfoy?" she hissed. "I really think you need to explain, because forgive me, but I simply don't understand," she mocked.

"That proposition my father presented to the Ministry—" he pursued, trying to express to her his seriousness, "—I want you to decline."

He left it at that and she nodded her head. "Oh?" she said quietly. The mocking undertone was not lost on him.

"Yes." He nodded his head slowly.

"And this is your warning, Malfoy?"

He smirked at her. "I can guarantee your life will be miserable if you consent to marrying me," he promised quietly, getting uncomfortably close to her.

"You do realize the contract we'll be signing won't allow any physical harm to come to me, right?" She gestured to herself once more. "So assuming I do accept the proposal, this is the last time you'll be able to set your grimy, murderous hands on me."

Malfoy laughed again, but it held no humor. "You think this is bad, Granger?" he said, grabbing her jaw in one of his hands and giving it a good shake, careful not to get her blood on him. "There are things I can do to your mind. Things I can force you to do. Things that you cannot even fathom." His eyes flickered over her tense body.

"And you're worried about _my_ murderous hands?" he scoffed. "I think you need to reevaluate that statement. Of the two of us, who's actually been responsible for the death of another person?"

Her eyes darkened at that. She pursed her lips and allowed herself to glare harder into his piercing silver gaze.

He tilted his head. "Aw, now. Don't be upset, Granger," he spat at her with a patronizing tone. "It's alright to admit it. My father did some terrible things in his time, but he's done his best to atone for his sins." He paused.

In something that was quite uncharacteristic for her – Hermione remained silent.

Malfoy's breath feathered out across her face, he was so close to her, now. "But what about you? You and your band of blathering idiots. You're the mastermind behind all of those raids." He fixed her with a biting glare. "Oh yes, I'm well aware of what you do, Granger. I know the people you've hurt. I know about the families you've torn apart. The people you've destroyed under your banner of righteousness and innocence." He gestured grandly with a sweep of his arms.

He fixed her with a furious look. "There's nothing innocent about what you do. Don't kid yourself," he whispered viciously.

Hermione finally found her voice and sat up straight in her chair, coming dangerously close to touching him. "Don't you – don't you _dare_ condemn what I've done. The people that I've saved, the—"

"No!" Malfoy roared into her face. He grabbed her shoulders roughly. "Don't _you_ dare! You are filth, Granger. You are lower than low in my eyes. Before, you were simply a mudblood fool. Someone who was unfortunate enough to be born into this world. But what you've become –" he spat at her, "—what you've become truly disgusts me."

Hermione was shocked into silence. Her worst fears voiced for her. The tears did not come. No, she would not cry for herself. She would not cry for what she had become.

Malfoy shoved her away from him, back into the plush chair and spun on his heel, taking out his wand as he went. He wrenched the front door open and refused to look back at her. "Remember what I said, Mudblood. You had better decline that proposal. I can't tell you the ways in which you'll come to regret it if you don't."

He marched out into the wind. Out into the rain and the storm that had started sometime in the darkness of the night.

She watched him retreat across the lawn and march toward the tree line, when a bolt of lightning opened up the sky, and he was gone with a crack, indistinguishable from the roar of thunder.

* * *

I'd really appreciate feedback, and** criticism is loved**. It helps me grow as an aspiring author.

Thanks to **Midnight's Ghost, DarkSideOfTheMoon-94, Zescribbler, cullen's pet, Flicka200, litchibi, and ProwlingKitKat** for the support and feedback for last chapter. It's much appreciated.


	3. Splendid Delirium

Just a quick note. I've noticed on the hits that I'm receiving that there is _a lot _of diversity as far as where everyone is reading from, and I just wanted to say that I think that's **amazing**. Pakistan, India, Swaziland, Russia, Malaysia, Thailand, Ireland, the Netherlands, United Arab Emirates... The list goes on. The fact that something like this story is connecting us is fantastic, and is something that I'd never imagined. So, I guess that this is an invitation to all of you out there. I'd really enjoy talking to you guys, if anyone is interested. I'm fascinated by different cultures, and love to travel, so I would really love to simply interact with you. Learn something from you, if you're interested. But regardless of whether or not you're interested, I just wanted to say: Hello from America!

Thank you to FMD, my beta, who has worked hard on this story. It would be entirely different without you.

* * *

**Simply Neurotic**

**Chapter 3**

**Splendid Delirium**

Slowly now. Not so fast. Quietly, quietly.

She was consumed by her thoughts. Drowning in her anguish and wondering how she was going to manage. Her grip on her wand tightened, and the familiarity of it was helping to sooth her. Providing her with some amount of comfort. She didn't belong here. This wasn't in her nature, she argued. But the fact that she was so bloody good at it, made it a necessity. Nearly scared her. Nobody is made to be a killer. Nobody is made to run into a room and duck, and roll, and vanquish. The idea that she was naturally good at it should have frightened her. Should have unsettled her. And by the Gods, it did.

Hermione Granger. Loyal sidekick and destroyer of souls. No – there was nothing poetic about that. Not in the least.

She stilled her breath as they came upon the end of the hall. She crouched down and took a couple of steadying breaths. She looked around the corner and into the room the noise had been flowing from.

Her shoulder was suddenly jerked back and she looked into the brilliant green eyes of the man she had come to love as though he were family. Flesh and blood and bone. All the nasty little bits.

His eyes searched her face silently. "You alright?" he whispered, looking at her with an odd mixture of concern and irritation.

She managed a small smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth before nodding her head, and then jerking it in the direction of the room.

She was acting mechanical, she knew that. And he could see right through her. Her other friends were insightful, courageous people, but they weren't in tune with her. They didn't know her habits. Her quirks. Routines.

He dropped her arm reluctantly, but still regarded her with a suspicious look. He had been watching her all night. He had noticed that she was exceptionally tense and withdrawn. Something was on her mind. He was determined to get it out of her before the night was over. She had never been very open about anything, especially things regarding the war. But he knew. He recognized the look on her face every time they came on one of these missions. Recognized it because it was the same aching hatred and grudging acquiescence he felt.

Casting one last glance at Harry, she looked around the corner once more only to have her face come into hard contact with a boot. She was dazed, if only for a moment, before she registered the shouts and curses of both sides of the battle.

She grimaced at the taste of her blood as it poured violently from her nose and mouth. She could feel it drenching the front of her shirt and wondered briefly, about how bloody _heavy _Harry was, sitting on her chest the way he was.

The noise and anguish in the room suddenly reached her ears in full force and she found herself pushing the body on her away forcefully.

She snatched out at her wand quickly, nearly having her hand crushed as someone ran passed.

"You alright, you hit your head on the ground pretty hard," Harry shouted over his shoulder at her.

"Fine," she replied tersely.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand and found herself disgusted by the sight of her blood. She shoved the nonsensical thought away and focused on the battle that was unraveling before her. They had moved into the room she had previously been attempting to spy on. Harry charged ahead of her, and she was close behind him.

She briefly glanced around the room, taking in the situation and wondering how it was that Luna Lovegood was managing to duel with two Death Eaters at once. In a time not too long ago, the girl would have doubtlessly perished if put into that situation. She was no killer. This war had changed her, too. It had changed everyone. This war had destroyed her belief in the mystical, in the fantastical. She was simply another casualty of this quarrel.

She watched as the young girl threw a hex at a Death Eater and witnessed the look of rage and frustration on her face. It seemed oddly misplaced. Ugly.

Perhaps in another time . . . In another place . . .

Hermione ducked under a table and glanced over at a couch Harry had taken refuge behind. They shared a heated look before he moved out from behind the overstuffed piece of furniture and aimed his wand at the first Death Eater he laid eyes upon.

It had begun. It was a dangerous game, but a game all the same. They won some, they lost some, but in the end, they were in the same place they started. The landscape might be different, but the picture was identical. She knew this. It had become obvious to her long ago that no matter how hard they pushed, the other side responded in kind. It was only a matter of time before one side or the other lost its power to continue. Lost its ability to recover. And it was the uncertainty that scared her, because she was determined to win, but there were certain things she simply could not allow herself to do.

But she wondered sometimes – wondered about the truth in that thought. Exactly how far was she willing to go to make sure they won? The idea frightened her. Because she could imagine.

And she didn't want to.

Not this. This was just a part of the play. Dangerous, yes. But the only thing she feared, was returning when others did not. She feared being responsible for the death of others. So while she had never uttered the curse to end someone's existence, she had killed.

Yes, she had blood on her hands.

Just as a general was responsible for the troops they lost, she was responsible for every life that left them on missions she had meticulously designed. And there was no reprieve. You lose one, you jump back in and try harder the next day. Lose two and they begin to cry out for revenge. Lose more, and well, the death toll on both sides begins to climb.

The mound of bodies becomes a mountain. Gnarled and grotesque.

She reacted mechanically and followed Harry's lead, whispering a hex and feeling the energy travel down her arm – exploding in the face of one of her masked enemies. Around and around they went like this. Ducking, rolling, and vanquishing.

The adrenaline pumped through her, and it was in the thick of the fighting that she felt her spine tingle, she felt herself give into her fear. She was careful, always careful. But it was her friends, her _family _she worried about. She was well acquainted with their brashness. With their impulsiveness and emotion filled attacks on their foes. She understood what it would mean to lose one of them.

That was why she planned her missions so carefully.

She never lost awareness of where they were in the thick of it. Tried at least to keep them in sight. Tonight was no different.

Despite the fact they were outnumbered, they were beginning to win the fight. Many of the cloaked figures could be seen sprawled out on the ground. Not dead. No. Simply incapacitated. They never aimed to kill. As much as she tormented herself about it, they weren't murderers – but the intent was there. The capability.

She shouted out a curse, feeling the ripple of power as it soared through her arm and hit a Death Eater squarely in the chest, sending him through a table and crashing, unconscious, into the stone wall.

Hermione rounded on yet another large Death Eater and came to a halt. She was surprised by the loathing and hatred she witnessed there in his eyes. She was sure it mirrored her own murderous gaze, and she faltered in her spell.

She was caught off guard by the emotion she saw there. Surprised to find that the look was familiar. Hadn't she seen it in the eyes of another enemy just the other night? Weren't those the emotions that danced through Malfoy's silver gaze? She shuddered at the thought. Yes. It was.

He took advantage of her misstep, and did something unusual. He lunged at her. For people so prone to a quick kill, that was the last thing she could have expected.

Instead of Avada Kedavraing her, he tackled her to the ground. The weight of the man was nearly enough to subdue her, but she was thrust into action as he brought his giant hands down to her throat. She clawed and pounded away at his arms and chest, attempting to get some air into her aching lungs.

She wouldn't stop struggling, but her mind had begun to wander. The rest of the room had faded into obscurity, and she was captivated by her enemy's green eyes, hooded behind his mask. Drawn into the whirlpool she saw there. She wondered. _Was this one of Malfoy's friends? One of the lives she had ruined?_

Would they discuss her death over a glass of wine the next day? Congratulate one another on ridding themselves of her. _Cheers mate!_

Tears stung her eyes. This wasn't how it was suppose to be. This wasn't her life – her end.

His single minded intention of killing her himself drowned out all of the background noise, and left them in their moment - alone. He could feel her heartbeat thrumming frantically against his palm, and relished the idea of being the one to finally destroy the Mudblood that had long since been a major thorn in the Dark Lord's side. He watched expectantly as she looked wildly around for any sign of her wand. A deep sense of satisfaction coursed through him as her struggling was becoming less and less powerful. And suddenly. He knew no more.

Harry's breathing was coming out in heaving gasps that shook his entire body. The feeling that had coursed through him at the sight of a nearly limp Hermione beneath a Death Eater was indescribable.

His hand trembled as he reached it out towards Hermione's heaving and coughing body. He stopped dead in his tracks when her tear stained face met his gaze. The look of desperation there was haunting. Her face was blooded and bruised, stretched into a grimace, her eyes pained.

He realized in that moment that there was something wrong with her. Something deeper than the bruises, deeper than the cuts, and scrapes. Far deeper than he was able to see. But she was showing him. Tentatively. She was revealing to him the state of her mind. The state of her soul.

He collapsed next to her and crushed her body to his. Crushed her frail, battered body to his own, and wished with all the life in him that he could fix her. That he could help her. He couldn't stand the look that had glazed her eyes moments before, so he selfishly buried her head into his shoulder. Hoping to prolong the inevitable pain he'd see the moment he looked back into her face. The anguish was something he never imagined he'd see in her. She was so strong. So powerful. Despite her size, she was a force to be reckoned with. And he had somehow managed to miss out on the fact that she was hurting. His best friend was in pain, and he didn't know how to make it stop.

So he clung to her, on the stone floor of the complex they were raiding, and allowed the rest of the team to finish the job. Let them free the prisoners. To hand the Death Eaters over to the aurors.

And he held her. Held her as she shook and sobbed and clung to his body.

It was a place of death. A place of terror and pain, buried deep under the surface of the town that wasn't even aware – aware of the evil that was perpetrated right under their feet, buried under hundreds of meters of dirt and decay.

There was murmuring and hushed whispers as Harry carried her to the surface. Away from the hell they had escaped, if only just narrowly. She was asleep and dreamless. And he would be there for her when she awoke. Be there when she chose to either tell him everything – or reveal nothing. He'd be there to make sure she was given that option. He'd be patient. He just hoped Ron hadn't heard about this yet.

XXX

She stared up at the ceiling, wordless. She could feel him there. Could feel that he wasn't far. And he was waiting. He knew she was awake. Knew she was simply thinking.

Harry approached her wordlessly. Cautiously.

"Ron's downstairs, you know," he started, watching her face for any sign of a reaction.

She looked at him sharply, but didn't really have anything to say regarding that matter. Instead she asked, "Did we get all of them out?"

He nodded his head. "Freed seventeen prisoners. Two more then we had expected. There are two people that were injured during the fight that were sent to St. Mungo's, but nothing serious." He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand.

"Caught nine Death Eaters tonight, Hermione. All thanks to you. You have once again organized a successful raid." His smile was false, and she caught it.

She turned her head away from him and stared at the ceiling once more. She swallowed hard before whispering, "I'm to marry Draco Malfoy in a couple of weeks." The relief she thought she would feel with the confession of it didn't come. Instead, she could feel Harry tense as he stroked the back of her hand.

"I know," came his terse reply.

Her eyes shot over to him.

He nodded his head and was about to speak as a loud crash shook through the house, followed by hoarse yelling. He smiled weakly. "Ron knows, too."

She seemed to pale slightly at that, so he continued. "After what happened tonight, I had to figure out what was wrong with you. McGonagall told us, earlier this evening."

She let out a dry laugh. Short and curt. "I guess you guys had to find out eventually. I gave my answer today, but we've got an arrangement to meet at Kingsley's office to sign the documents. He insisted Malfoy enters into an Unbreakable Vow with me. To ensure certain things."

He watched her for a few more moments, then brought her hand up to his lips to plant a chaste kiss on it. "Is that all that's bothering you, Mione?" When she didn't answer, he pressed, "Because you really weren't yourself tonight. You weren't as careful as you normally are, and that concerns me. Especially when you're about to walk right into the enemy's waiting arms." She still refused to respond so he sighed softly.

"I almost lost you tonight, Mione. I can't tell you how much that scared me. I can't tell you how afraid I was for you. How desperate I was to get to you in time. You don't have to tell me, but please let me try to help you."

The guilt flooded through her. She knew he wouldn't force anything out of her, but he was still concerned. She was lucky to have such a good friend. She wondered briefly if she should tell him about Malfoy's trip to her home, but quickly dashed the idea aside. He was already worried enough as it was, no need to add to that.

She smiled at him softly, and patted the space next to her. He cautiously climbed into the bed and lay behind her on top of the sheets spooning her prone form. They laid in silence for moments that extended comfortably around them.

She was trying to find the courage to tell him. Trying to figure out _what _to tell him, exactly. She owed him some sort of explanation. Finally, she sighed. "Do you know what I wanted to be when I was a child, Harry?"

He shook his head, but realized she couldn't see him. He cleared his throat and answered, "No." His voice sounded hoarse and raw.

"I wanted to be a teacher," she concluded. "I wanted to help people. I wanted to be a positive influence in people's lives. I wanted to protect people, I suppose. Guide them."

She was quiet again for another moment. "This isn't what I wanted for myself. This world that we live in. I never wanted to be responsible for the death of another human being. I _never _wanted to cause anybody harm."

Harry shifted so that he was on his elbow behind her. Watching her sort out her thoughts.

"Even after I learned that I was a witch, I couldn't wait to use my gift to help people. Never in a million years would I have suspected I would be going on deadly raids, hexing and cursing people, Harry. The look I saw in that man's eyes as he was strangling me was horrifying. It was the same look I carry in my eyes. It's the feeling I carry in my heart. It's not me. I can't accept that this is who I'm supposed to be. I cannot accept that I'm fated to cause people pain and heartbreak."

Harry squeezed her shoulder tightly. "You do what you have to do to survive and to help other innocent people do the same. You're not a bad person for wanting to change the world, Hermione. I can't tell you often enough, how much of an impact you've had on people. How many lives you've saved. How many people owe you their very existence. You're a hero. And sometimes there are certain things we have to do to ensure that evil doesn't prevail."

She shook her head. "I just can't justify a few evil deeds for the greater good, I –"

He cut her off. "—Evil? Exactly what _evil_ do you think you've committed, Hermione? People die in wars. That's the nature of the entire thing. That defines it. All we can do, is try to prevent as many deaths as we can and try to fight fairly, and with honor. You've always gone to great lengths to make sure our missions are as safe as possible and limit damage. Can you say that they do the same?" He hardly paused. "No. Of course not. They fight to kill, Hermione. There's nothing remotely compassionate about that," he said, contemptuously.

She sighed gently. "I suppose I just want things to go back to the way that they used to be. The way they were before all of this." She gestured weakly around her with an open hand. "Even in the first couple of years at Hogwarts, we knew—_I knew_—that there was something going on. That there was an undeniable tension running below the surface. Right underneath our feet. But we continued to live our lives. We continued to go to school, even though our adventures led us into danger. But I always felt safe, Harry. Almost as though it wasn't real. Almost as though the danger wasn't really imminent." She paused, trying to order her thoughts. "And then Dumbledore died . . ." she swallowed the knot in her throat. "It all became so real for me, then."

That was the point when she realized how serious things had become. How far they had come from the days of the Sorcerer's Stone, and the Chamber of Secrets. When people she knew were actually beginning to die. When people were betraying one another, selling out their friends and family. When the fear was apparent.

Harry's hand was still traveling up and down her arm, providing some sort of rhythm for her. "It's hard, Hermione. I'll be the first to admit to that. It almost seems as though—" his voice became distant. "—It almost seems as though there's no support system anymore." His hand stilled. "We used to look to the adults for support. For security. It's an entirely different thing, to find that people are looking to _you _for that support. That they are depending on _you _to point the direction out. That their hopes lie with _you_."

Hermione rolled over to face the man behind her. Her best friend. He was so strong. So capable – because he had to be. He was thrust into this simply because of who he was. He was thrust in front of the fight and expected to lead. She had chosen this life. She had chosen to dedicate her existence to stopping the likes of Voldemort. She exhausted herself, and ran risky missions in the darkness of night, so that others could try to achieve some normality during the light of day.

But now that she examined him closer, she could see the changes that had taken place over the last few years. The subtle, yet completely altering differences.

The fact that he had become a man, with the strong jaw and broad shoulders that accompany that change in most boys. But also, the smaller, yet more compelling things. Like the small scar along his jaw on the left side of his face — faded, but she remembered how he got it all too well. The determined expression, forever painted on his face, and the shocking intensity of his green eyes. So very different from what she remembered when they were kids. His eyes seemed more penetrating, in a way. And most importantly — he looked tired. Not worn down, like she felt, but simply tired. Fed up with the war. Fed up with the constant games of cat and mouse. Sick of having his every move scrutinized, and his actions assessed.

She nodded her head, finally. "Thanks, Harry."

He smiled at her. One of his true, genuine smiles and whispered, "Now go back to bed, you've got a big day ahead of you tomorrow. I've got to take you to the Ministry in the morning." He smiled softly at her again. "And just know that I'm always here for you. Even after you go on this idiotic mission at the Malfoy Manor, I'll still be around for you. I'll come if you call for me. No matter what."

She felt secure in that. Felt secure in the idea that Harry would always watch over her. She knew he meant it. So while he ran his open palm up and down her back, she pondered her predicament. Wondering briefly, who was watching out for him, while he constantly kept one eye trained on her?

He watched her for a few more moments, secure in knowing she was safe – for now. He would stay the night with her, grant her the opportunity to sleep, because he knew she didn't get that very often. Krum may live with her, but he was gone as often as he was around. She needed some security, and even if it was only for a night, he would give that to her. But he wished for so much more. He hated seeing her the way she was. He missed the old Hermione. The one that was so lively and affectionate – in her own way. He wanted her to be happy, because she had had more than her fair share of heartbreak and despair. More than any of them.

* * *

Thanks for reading. I appreciate the support and hope that you are as taken with Hermione as I am. There's bound to be plenty of action and adventure ahead. Love and lust. Angst and anger. Lots of love to** DarkSideOfTheMoon-94, Flicka200, tatiana, yuki-chan25, cullen's pet, Midnight Ghost, and megjac **for the support.


	4. Lead Me Into Obscurity

Thanks to FMD for helping out with this. She's done a splendid job.

* * *

**Simply Neurotic**

**Chapter 4**

**Lead Me Into Obscurity**

She was entering into a pact with the enemy. She was giving herself up on a silver platter, and all he could do was look at her with that infuriating expression of superiority. Oh, how she wanted to tear that look off his face. Tear his face off, as a matter of fact. Tear it off and stomp on it and curse at it. But as it was, she could no more do that than she could proclaim her undying love for him. It was simply impossible to do.

The situation was tense. Awkward in a severe way.

She managed another look out of the corner of her eye at the man that was sitting uncomfortably close to her. The man she would soon be binding herself to. The one she loathed. Despised. Detested.

Yes, she detested him.

And he, her. He had made that _painfully_ clear the other night.

But she gained some satisfaction from thinking that she had taken control away from him. Had taken control of his life, essentially. If there was one thing she knew about the man casually sitting next to her, it was that he craved control. Demanded it.

From the way he looked in his tailored cloaks and carefully arranged hair, to plans and affairs he was involved in, he needed to be in control. In that one aspect, they were alike. But even so, it pained her to admit to that.

His father was standing off to the side of her chair, giving her the feeling that he was intentionally trying to make her feel uneasy. Intentionally putting her on edge. Bastard.

This was his idea after all. He was the one that was pushing for this arrangement. You would think he'd try to make her as comfortable as possible. Make a gesture of good will, or something. But no. He was back there, just out of her periphery, tapping that blasted cane of his against the floor, and allowing his cloak to flutter around him slightly with his movements.

The way they held themselves infuriated her. When she had entered the office, she was surprised to have found them already there. Two hours early. Control, indeed.

When she entered Kingsley's office, she only faltered for a second before she found her footing, and maintaining an air of indifference she greeted the three men before her with a curt nod of her head and took the only seat that was available – sandwiched between Draco and his hovering father. They had all stood from their seats when she had opened the door, and the two Malfoy men exchanged meaningful glances before seating themselves. She watched as they both took in her appearance.

It seemed as though they were having a private, wordless conversation, with subtly raised brows and severe scowls. Apparently Draco wasn't on the same page as his father. She could have laughed, but as it were, she was feeling too uneasy.

She was avoiding Draco's gaze, and that alone unnerved her. The fact that she was consciously avoiding the prick was irritating to her. But despite that, she couldn't bring herself to raise her eyes to meet his. She knew what she'd see there in his tense, stormy glare.

She knew she didn't look great. Prided herself on the fact that she did in fact, look like crap. She couldn't help the small smile that turned the edges of her lips up slightly. Draco had yet to remove his eyes from her once she had taken her seat, and she could feel the heat of his gaze on the side of her face, traveling to her busted lip, and further down to her neck, upon which you could barely make out the beginnings of what would be nasty bruises from under her high turtle neck sweater.

It was only last night that she had gained those fine trophies for her hard work. She certainly could have removed them, but she thought it would figure in with her grand entrance. Judging by his unabated attention, she supposed she was right.

She could only imagine the shock he had experienced after receiving her letter of intent to marry him, via the Ministry. She would have paid sacks full of galleons to see the temper tantrum he'd had. The spoiled brat had not gotten what he wanted.

But she had had things to do. A mission to plan, and a strategy to work out. While he was no doubt lounging in his plush mansion, she was in a dark corner. Whispering secrets; _conspiring_.

When his gaze had yet to leave her and Kingsley had begun to talk in that low baritone voice of his, she grew irritated. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. She took a calming breath, pleading with herself to remain in control, and to rein in the impulse to snap at him viciously.

Only Malfoy could raise those impulses in her. Those vicious, savage impulses. And from something as simple as a mocking look.

She turned in her seat towards him, and fixed him with a heated gaze of contempt, and was surprised by the look on his face and was irritated, although not really surprised that he refused to back down. His expression was unfathomable, but the look she gave him was always enough to make Ron cower. Not even Harry was impervious to it.

He didn't even blink.

He slowly raised an eyebrow at her, and she watched as his lips quirked up into a small smirk.

Kingsley coughed not so subtly, catching both of their attentions. Hermione was forced to look away first and acknowledge the head of the Auror Department, but couldn't help but scowl deeper when Draco scooted his chair closer to hers. Not once, but twice so that the arm of his chair was nearly touching hers. She was bewildered by his antics, but was determined to not reveal that he was throwing her off.

She ran her fingers over the edges of her skirt, smoothing the wrinkles out. She pursed her lips when she heard his quiet, but deep chuckle from beside her.

His change in tactics was unnerving. She knew he had something in mind by the way he was acting, but she still wasn't privy to what game he was playing. Other than the one she was already well acquainted with: infuriating her.

Kingsley was watching the exchange quietly, and wondered if they were doing the right thing. Hermione was obviously not in the best condition, and losing even the tiniest bit of access to her through the Order was a dangerous gamble.

He cleared his throat suddenly, and met the heated gazes of the two across from him. "I expect you two have read the documents carefully and understand all of the limitations and expectations—" his gaze landed heavily on Draco, "—contained therein. Do either of you have any questions before you sign the document and I perform the Unbreakable Vow?" He glanced between the two, but let his eyes linger on Hermione. She was uncharacteristically staring at the wood of the table that separated them, refusing to meet his gaze head on. To add to that, Draco had an irritatingly smug look on his face. Something wasn't right.

He had begun to stand, when she finally raised her voice.

"I just want to make sure we're clear here," she forced out. "I want to make sure we all agree that I'm to maintain my freedom. I want to be able to come and go as I please. I won't be a prisoner at Malfoy Manor."

She shot a look at Draco who had scoffed at her demand.

"Please, Granger. You act as though I'm dying to have you in my presence at all times. Come and go as you please, as long as you keep your filthy friends away from my home, I really don't care what you do."

She chose to let the comment slide, she was simply relieved he had agreed. And besides that, she was certain Kingsley didn't want Malfoy to know that she was privy to all of the 'filthy' guests _he_ entertained. She wasn't supposed to be spying. Unity and strength. That was what this was about.

Kingsley made another move to stand up, but she cut him off again. "And I want a separate bedroom," she said, hastily.

"Done," came Draco's tense response. "Now, let's get this over with, shall we. I don't have all day after all."

Hermione's lips pressed together viciously, and her teeth clenched under the strain of her jaw's muscles.

They both leaned over the table and brought their pens down upon the paper that would seal their fates. But she wasn't nervous yet. The real threat was the Unbreakable Vow. She knew Kingsley had requested that it was performed, specifically for her protection, but she couldn't help but feel uneasy at the smug expression on Malfoy's face.

He was up to something. He should be dreading the vow more than her, there was no illusion here. She was the only one the vow was meant to protect. But as they stood across from one another at Kingsley's direction, she steeled herself and tried to make her face as impassive and shielded as his.

They grasped each other's arms, and she felt herself flinch slightly at his tight grip. The sweater she was wearing was concealing her bruises, but she knew he saw the brief flutter of her eyelids. He only managed to tilt his head higher.

Bastard.

She tightened her grip on his arm then, grateful they were both wearing long sleeve shirts so there was no skin contact between them. The idea of having to embrace him – for any amount of time and no matter the reason – disgusted her.

Kingsley's low voice seemed ominous, and she figured that it was fitting for the setting. For the occasion. Her death, really. She imagined it was her eulogy he was reading, not the terms of her marriage. She couldn't help the quirk at the corner of her mouth, and watched as Draco wordlessly raised a questioning eyebrow at her slight change in expression.

_His _expression was maddening. What she wouldn't give to swipe that look off his face.

Their eyes never left one another as they stared down the length of their linked arms.

Standing so close to Draco, she suddenly realized how much bigger than her he had become. She hadn't actually paid much attention to his body, as it were, the other night. She had been much too occupied with his fists and expression of pure, unadulterated fury. But now, she saw exactly what she was up against, and she couldn't help but feel like they were being sized up before a boxing match. A fight to the death.

She never imagined there would be much change. Her small smile fell from her lips when she came to the realization that the young man she had stood level with as she punched him in the mouth in third year, was now quite a bit taller. Bigger, too. If she was to tell the truth of the matter.

He had certainly filled out, and she suddenly felt outnumbered – out powered. Especially when she felt his hand give her arm a quick, vicious squeeze, and actually had her entire forearm wrapped in his large hand. It was almost as though he knew exactly what she was thinking.

He seemed to be aware of her sudden discomfort and bared his teeth at her in a smile that verged on looking animalistic.

She glared at him once more, and steeled herself against him, but could not shake the feeling that she was making a big mistake.

Malfoy was easily a full head taller than her, and perhaps twice her weight.

She wondered briefly how she had managed to hold out against him for so long the other night. Between the two, he definitely had the advantage physically. Perhaps she still had him on tact and knowledge.

But that was doubtful. He had simply been holding back. How long had it taken him to incapacitate her? Two swift blows? Realizing this now, she was surprised he had allowed her to carry on the way she had.

What should she say, then? _Why, thank you Malfoy for waiting to beat me senseless. I am indebted to you for that kindness._

Her mind knew no bounds.

His voice suddenly shocked her out of her musings, and she belatedly realized that he was responding to something Kingsley was saying. His voice had sent shockwaves through her body. Starting at the point where their bodies met, and running the length of her arm, before grabbing hold of her chest and jolting her.

"—swear to protect Hermione Granger from harm and danger to the utmost of your ability?" Kingsley stated confidently as he circled them.

"Yes," came Draco's bored response, although his expression hinted he was anything but.

It was as though he were trying to tell her something. His expression was unfathomable though.

"And will you abide to all of the guidelines that are outlined in the marriage contract you signed?"

"Yes."

"Very well then." Kingsley took out his wand and was about to disengage the spell, when something in Draco's eyes unsettled her.

"Wait a moment." His expression was now intense, almost angry.

Kingsley faltered in his movement and shared a look with Hermione.

"Do you, Hermione Granger, agree to all of the guidelines that were laid out in the marriage contract you signed?" Malfoy's voice echoed through the room, and the command he held in his voice was undeniable.

She could see his father moving closer out of the corner of her eye.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Of course," she said, a little more forced then she would have liked.

He looked at her expectantly.

She had to control herself from rolling her eyes. "Yes, I agree to all of the guidelines specified in the marriage contract."

He nodded his head, but then tilted it slightly to the right, studying her expression.

His grip on her arm was suddenly painful, and she tried to yank it away from him, only to find that he had her in a vice like grip – and he wasn't going to be letting her go.

He smirked suddenly, and her stomach nearly fell to her knees. She saw the intent there. She saw what he had been warning her against, and she couldn't help but try again to jerk her arm away from him, even though she knew it was impossible.

His lips came together in a satisfied smile, and he opened his mouth slightly, enunciating the syllables perfectly – slowly.

"Do you, Hermione Granger, vow your allegiance to the Malfoy family?"

She openly gaped at him. Her expression must have been priceless, because the glee on his face was unmistakable. She glanced quickly at Kingsley, who had managed to school his expression into an impenetrable mask.

She looked back at Malfoy, only to see that he was regarding her with a calculating expression. She calmed herself, and realized that this was what he wanted. He wanted for her to say no. It was as good as admitting she was only marrying him to spy on him.

Her mind ran through the maze of possibilities, trying to figure a way out. She came up empty, but there were always loopholes, and perhaps…

Perhaps letting him think she wasn't allowed to report back to the Order would make him slip something when he was around her. If he thought she was bound to him and his secrets, would he actually say anything in her presence?

Doubtful, but there was always the possibility...

The silence in the room was unnerving. Everyone was holding their breath it seemed, waiting for her response. It was peculiar scene. And she knew each moment she spent in silence was only adding to the anticipation.

The flutter of emotions that briefly ran across her face was incredible. Mostly identifiable and somewhat predictable. Draco waited with confidence as she struggled with her answer.

She clenched her jaw once more, before nodding her head. Averting her eyes from Draco, she took a quick breath in. "Yes, once we are married, I vow my allegiance to the Malfoy family." It came out as nearly a gasp, but she couldn't help herself. The words tasted dirty. Tasted like a lie. And the way Malfoy was looking at her now, was unnerving as hell.

Kingsley mumbled the rest of the spell, and she could feel a cold sensation tingle up her wrist, starting at where Kingsley's wand was resting on her exposed skin. The sensation quickly lost its mellow, almost soothing tingle, and became searing hot, branding her skin and Malfoy's in the same instant. She tried to contain the gasp that escaped her throat, and ended up choking on it. The pain was infuriatingly slow and intense as it crawled up her arm, gaining in its intensity as it neared her elbow.

She glared up at Malfoy's face, and was further frustrated by his calm expression, his smirk ever present as he looked down upon her. She clamped her lips together and gripped his arm tighter in response. She'd be damned if she showed him how much it was affecting her.

She had closed her eyes, when the pain became nearly unbearable. Her arm was suddenly repulsed from Draco's body as a spark of light filled the room, and the pain immediately began to lose its intensity. She heaved a deep breath and felt immediate relief as the sensation began to dull into a cool tingling once more.

She held her hand up in front of her face and wiggled her fingers to make sure there was no damage. The effects of the spell were apparent. It was just as she had read: an invisible rope had branded her arm up to what she could assume would be her elbow, since that was where the sensation ceased.

She looked up at Malfoy only to find that he was watching her once again. That unreadable expression on his face. His eyes were the only tell tale sign he was alive. That he felt anything. And at the moment, he had the audacity to appear amused.

But she saw it. Hidden in the depths of his eyes. He was uncertain. He hadn't expected her to consent to his demand. He hadn't expected her to finish the vow.

Well, he could take that and shove it up his Pureblood arse.

She glared at him momentarily, before turning her attention to Kingsley.

"Are we done?" she ground out, still holding her arm tentatively.

He nodded his head at her. "Of course, but I expect Draco will be in contact with you soon enough to arrange the particulars of the marriage."

Hermione wrenched the door open and slammed it behind her. She had felt all three of them stare at her as she left, but was too irritated and tired to care if she had acted like a child.

She needed sleep. She sighed as she considered apparating straight to the flat she and Viktor shared, but realized she had more important things that needed attending to.

A chill ran down her back and she got the sense that somebody was watching her. But not _just _somebody.

She looked around the busy room, full of Ministry employees. The paper messages were flying about the cubicles, and she was receiving more than a few odd stares at her abrupt departure from Kingsley's office. But the person she was concerned with was now approaching her from the opposite side of the room.

She grimaced. That ultra alert feeling she had experienced was something that her body had designed in order to warn her of enemies. A sixth sense, perhaps. It was something she experienced very acutely in the presence of Draco Malfoy, so the idea that the woman watching her with determination across from the room, was eliciting such a response from her now, was mildly amusing. But really just irritating.

Her dark haired adversary was watching her intently, having left the conversation she was having at the time with a Ministry official in her pursuit of Hermione.

It would have been flattering, if it were a man that were pursuing her with such intensity.

She was trying desperately to avoid this conversation. Trying to avoid talking to her at all, really. She clenched her jaw, steeling herself for the barrage of questions that were sure to follow.

Once she was at Hermione's side they marched silently along the carpeted hall, passing cubicles and animated chatter. She could feel the Ministry employees' eyes following them along their path, and wondered what their thoughts were.

Probably wondering what _her_ thoughts were.

It wasn't often you saw the two of them together, and it seldom had a good outcome.

The woman had picked up her pace and was now walking slightly forward of Hermione. Taking control of the situation, and just close enough to make her uncomfortable.

They swung a quick left around the corner down a hall, and the woman next to her abruptly opened a door off to the side of them. Hermione didn't miss a beat as she walked into the room and took a seat on top of the desk that was there in the front of the empty office.

Hermione watched critically as the woman cast a silencing charm on the door before turning around.

They regarded each other with critical expressions. She was struck by the thought that the scene would have been comical, had it not been for the fact she extremely disliked the person standing confidently before her. Hermione's slouched form was pitiable compared to her nemesis's regal stance and understated poise.

"You've been ignoring my owl all week, Hermione." The woman tore her gaze from Hermione and began to prowl around the room, stopping before the window opposite the door.

Hermione turned, determined to maintain some level of control. "I don't work for you. I didn't think you needed reminding of that." She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, but it was impossible. Everything about her just touched a nerve. Grated on her.

"Yes, I realize that. But it's rude to ignore old friends. It's poor manners."

Hermione snorted. "Friends?" she asked incredulously. She shook her head at the gall of the woman before her, and felt her irritation go through the roof at the smug smile she received. "What exactly do you want, Theodora?"

She didn't need to ask. It was no coincidence she was trying to get a hold of her right after Lucius made his proposition. She refused to respond or let her meddle in it, though. Hermione didn't want her thinking she held any sway over her, no matter what her opinion was. She wanted nothing to do with her.

Theodora cast her a shrewd look. "Come now, Hermione. I simply wanted to discuss your predicament with you before you made your decision." She nodded her head to herself, keeping her chin held high. Her eyes flickered down to Hermione's wrist, no doubt referencing the mark that was barely visible on her skin. "But I see I was too late. You've already made your decision. I was only hoping that as Minister for Magic, I could help you."

Hermione shook her head. No. There was always something else. Always an ulterior motive where Theodora was concerned. "Thank you for the thought, but I'm perfectly capable of making decisions for myself."

They were once again locked in a heavy stare. Not uncomfortable, but tense all the same.

They had a unique relationship, Hermione and Theodora. There would be no name calling, or attacks from either one of them. Their interactions were of a different sort.

Hermione would be lying if she said she didn't respect the woman before her, although grudgingly. But they had butt heads too many times in the past, and although she recognized her as a brilliant mind and a cunning politician, she didn't respect the methods she used to get what she wanted.

Theodora approached her and smiled softly. But Hermione was wary of her expression. Nothing good could come from that look.

Theodora must have noticed her unease, because she laughed. "Relax, Hermione." Her voice was soft – feminine. Seductive, even.

Hermione was baffled, but was trying her hardest to not show it. She had long ago learned that the best way to approach any situation with Theodora, was to wait it out. She would eventually reveal what she wanted, but you had to be careful to not give anything away.

Hermione looked at her disapprovingly. There would be no need for her to say anything. She'd work her way up to whatever it was she wanted eventually.

Theodora watched her with a calculating eye. "If you'd only allow me to help you, Hermione. Having me in your side of the ring has its advantages, you know."

"Oh?" Hermione asked, raising a speculative eyebrow at her. "Does that mean the Ministry doesn't back me as it is?"

Theodora smiled again. "You know we do, Hermione. Officially at least. But there are things I can do for you that the Order cannot. Things I can guarantee. Things I can get for you," she pursued.

"If I swear I'll serve you and any interest you have, right?" she asked calmly.

Theodora was quiet for a moment. "I know the danger you are putting yourself into, here. I just want to make sure you are kept safe. This ministry wouldn't have been nearly as successful if it weren't for you," she admitted quietly.

Hermione smiled. "So once again, you're just protecting your assets?" She shook her head. "No, Theodora, I'm not interested in being on the Ministry's payroll. You know perfectly well why."

That hung in the air between them like a foul smell.

They were assessing one another once more. Yes, they had their history. It was as muddled and convoluted as it gets. There was respect there – but also a thinly veiled dislike and, at least on Hermione's part, distrust.

Theodora tore her eyes away from Hermione and glared at the wall opposite her.

"Fine. I just hope you know what you're doing. You can owl me if you need anything – but I think we both know you won't bother." She headed for the door.

There was no response needed, so Hermione let her leave. Only in situations of extreme need would she dare solicit help from Theodora. But she had already been in that situation in the past. She only hoped she wouldn't have to venture there again. The price was simply too high.

* * *

Special thanks to** Our Lady of Dreams, Midnight's Ghost, Jade2099, Flicka200, cullen's pet, Solace, NoReservationsOnLife, LaurelBeeGee, and BloodJewel **for the support and kind words.

I always appreciate comments and constructive criticism.


	5. It’s All Circumstantial

A/N: Much love and appreciation for my beta FMD. This chapter underwent many upgrades due to her lovely influence.

* * *

**Simply Neurotic**

**Chapter 5**

**It's All Circumstantial **

She gave one, quick nod in the direction of the bartender. "Tom," she said.

He looked up from cleaning one of the glasses lined up on the counter. He nodded to her briefly and jerked his head subtly to the left.

She nodded once more in response, and smiled weakly at him. Meaning to come across as encouraging, she couldn't help but feel as though it appeared more . . . pathetic.

Her eyes glanced over the people scattered around the Leaky Cauldron. There weren't many present. Not in times like these. But most of them she was able to recognize. She made it her business to know who people were, after all.

There were a few people that glanced up at her as she walked towards the back of the building. They recognized her, of course, but most didn't draw attention to the fact. They kept their heads bowed, careful to be as inconspicuous as possible. Some, however, gave her subtle nods of the head. A small sign of recognition and respect.

It wasn't often she was seen out in public. Most people knew what that meant.

They associated it with better times.

People spoke of her with reverence. The same awe and undeniable curiosity they used when speaking of the Dark Lord. The same tone and hushed voices they used in connection with Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Kingsley Shackelbolt, Oliver Wood. All of the people that were connected in their minds, with The Resistance.

People that were rarely seen, but often thought about. Often heard about.

Information about raids and triumphs were cheered on from the relative safety of their homes and offices. Defeats – deaths, were mourned, but not spoken about. Nobody wanted to dwell on that aspect of the war. People relished the small victories, but would sooner ignore the defeats than acknowledge them.

They recognized her, and felt comforted by the fact she was above ground once more. The periods of time when she was absent completely, even her articles in the _Daily Prophet_ missing, were the times people felt desperation set in. Those were the darkest times, when the struggle was felt and seen by all of them.

She was important to them. Important to everyone who prayed for an end to the war. A symbol for everything that was good and righteous, in their eyes.

Hermione nodded her head subtly to the people that acknowledged her. She walked carefully, not making eye contact with anyone but those who initiated it, and maintained awareness of the room and who was in it.

That walk across the room always seemed like it took forever, and no matter how many times she had done it over the past couple of years, she always felt exposed. This was the safest place for her to be meeting Rita Skeeter, but she always felt like that final march was _revealing_.

She took her seat across from Rita, with her back to the wall and her eyes glued to the door.

Time had not been kind to Rita Skeeter. The war had taken its toll on her just as it had done to everyone else. But despite the deterioration of her looks, her personality was still the same. Still intact.

Hermione wasn't sure whether or not she was grateful for that. Whether the woman sitting across from her was of more use with her shrewd interpretation of events and people, or if it would have been better for her to be more pliable. More malleable.

Hermione smiled at her for a moment. No, Rita Skeeter was invaluable to her as she was.

Over the last couple of years, they had struck upon an interesting arrangement and in the process had formed – not necessarily a friendship – but something more like an alliance.

Their mutual distrust of the Ministry drew them together in an unlikely bond. Defined by tentative trust and grudging acceptance. But sprinkled with resentment and suspicion.

Rita was looking at Hermione with a prying expression, her enchanted pen at the ready, practically quivering with expectation.

Today's occasion was a special one. Rita Skeeter was the first appointment Hermione made as soon as she had left the Ministry. It was necessary to hedge all of the rumors that were certain to sprout up. Her mission was to make sure everyone knew her intention to marry Draco Malfoy was a sincere one. Nothing prompted out of coercion or blackmail.

Rita leaned into her eagerly. Her eyes drank in Hermione's appearance, and her pen began to scribble furiously away on the piece of parchment hovering not far from her head. No doubt dramatizing her haggard appearance and bruise addled neck.

But she'd looked worse before. Far worse.

Hermione quietly cast the Muffliato spell and turned her attention away from the bar's entrance and focused on Rita's quirking lips.

Hermione smiled slightly at the woman before her. She loved this part. Rita was so easy to read sometimes. She could hardly keep herself from laughing. Rita was practically about tocrawl across the table to get at her.

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at her. "I'm sure you've already heard of the news, Rita. Why don't you just ask what I know you want to ask?"

Rita laughed lightly. "Very well then." She tapped her fingers against the top of the table. "When is the wedding?"

Hermione smiled. "In two weeks, of course."

Rita looked scandalized. "What?" Her face contorted into a horrible mask of disbelief.

"Yes, that's right. The arrangement was made official this morning at the Ministry." She smiled again at the woman who had yet to close her gaping mouth. She held up two fingers to make the point clear. "Two . . . weeks."

Her eyes did another quick scan of the room and found that nobody seemed too interested in her and the reporter. Although, little could be seen of them from under the dim alcove beneath the stairs.

Rita began to regard her suspiciously now. Hermione had to say that she didn't blame her. The idea of marrying Malfoy was absurd, even to her.

Rita crossed her arms over her chest and regarded Hermione with a calculating gaze. There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence as they stared at one another from across the length of the cracked table.

Hermione knew what was coming next. Standard procedure these days. Rita would be stupid for not suspecting.

"What secret do you keep of mine?" Rita's shrewd gaze watched Hermione's face for any signs of deception. The Imperius Curse was in regular use these days, on both sides of the battle field.

"You're an animagus. A beetle to be exact," she replied smoothly.

Rita clasped her hands together suddenly. Her eyes alight with interest. "My goodness, Hermione. Give me all the details," she pressed.

Hermione nodded. "I intend to."

"But first, what about Viktor? You two have been together for quite some time now."

"Didn't work out," she answered simply.

"Mmhm." Rita nodded swiftly. "That's too bad." She knew she wasn't going to get anything out of Hermione that she didn't want to give up. "So, how did this whole thing come about? How do you go from dating the world's most sought after man, to being engaged to _Draco Malfoy_?" she said his name in nearly a whisper.

"We're trying to promote unity amongst the Pureblood families and the Ministry." She held her tongue and left it at that, averting her gaze to the bar entrance once more.

Rita was quiet for some time.

Hermione laughed bitterly. "You always act so offended when I don't tell you everything I know." She smiled lightly. "You know just as well as I do that we both benefit from this little arrangement."

"Yes, you get to put your weekly statements into the paper at my expense," she snapped sourly.

Hermione's low laughter once again rang out. "Oh yes, because putting your name and face on the article isn't payment enough. If you're unsatisfied, I can find another reporter, Rita."

Rita scowled at her. "And give up the exclusive book deal you promised me when the war is over? I don't think so," she scoffed and uncrossed her arms. "The thought of Tina Tiny having her hairy man-like hands on your exclusive story disgusts me." She shook her head. "There's a vial of Veritaserum in my kitchen with your name on it for after all this is done."

Hermione shook her head, already feeling a bit anxious. There was much to accomplish in a very short period of time. She was getting impatient. "Stop complaining then, and let's get this going."

Rita watched her carefully, as her pen scribbled notes tediously. Aware as she always was of the way Hermione was feeling instinctively.

She decided she needed to make Hermione less tense. Lessen the nervousness she imagined she saw.

What she didn't realize though was it wasn't nervousness she saw, but rather, irritation.

"Well, I'm glad you came to me. In the hands of a lesser reporter, there would be an uproar from the public. You know how they feel about the Malfoy family." She leaned in closer to Hermione. "Even after what happened at the Hogwarts battle with _You Know Who," _she whispered ominously, a peculiar expression on her face.

She quickly withdrew and smiled shrewdly. "But I can't blame the man for trying to convince people he's innocent. You know better than anyone the lengths Theodora goes to, to get information out of people that are suspected guilty."

Hermione's jaw clenched shut at that remark. Yes. She certainly did.

"But Draco on the other hand," she tapped her chin thoughtfully, watching Hermione's face for any reaction. "He never really seemed like the villain everyone made him out to be."

She smiled and leaned into Hermione once more. "He is actually quite the heartthrob, you know." She sighed and looked out distantly into the dark hall beside them, an unfathomable expression on her face.

"So tall, handsome, and well built."

She winked at Hermione.

Hermione made a loud sound of disgust deep in her throat. "Not to mention arrogant, rude, and chauvinistic," she snapped before she could help herself.

Rita's smile widened, but she didn't bring up the fact that Hermione didn't deny Draco was handsome.

"Are you unhappy with the match, Hermione?" she asked softly.

Hermione was taken aback by the maternal tone Rita had taken.

She regarded Rita closely for a moment, suspicious as always about the woman's motives.

"No. Not necessarily." She wasn't sure where to take it from there. Unsure for once what angle Rita was coming from.

"It could be worse you know. Lucius could have proposed that you marry _him, _instead of his dashing young son. The man must be lonely, after his wife was killed right after that battle."

The idea of marrying the father of her childhood nemesis was disturbing. She couldn't stop the grimace that marred her face.

Hermione had to find a way to make this seem as though she were happy with the situation.

Or at the very least, not like she wanted to murder her fiancée.

But that was hard at the moment, considering the fact that her mind was bent on coming up with ways to make him as miserable as possible. Making him regret ever trying to hurt and threaten her. She always did have a wild imagination.

"Exactly how much do you know, Rita?" she asked finally.

Rita shrugged her shoulders casually and smirked at Hermione. "Oh, you know. With all my connections at the Ministry and such, I pretty much know everything there is to know." She seemed pleased with that, leaning back in her chair and examining her chipped nails thoughtfully, a smile playing around her lips.

Hermione frowned. She was beginning to fidget. Being in one place for too long always made her feel uncomfortable.

And these meetings with Rita were always tiring. There was always a disagreement about how something should be portrayed. Always a struggle for Hermione to make sure her words were translated the way she wanted them to be. Always a fight against putting a slant on something Hermione was reporting to Rita.

Rita disagreed vehemently with the Ministry, but Hermione always had to convince her that tact was needed when writing about them. When writing about their progress in the war.

But Hermione always won. That was something she was used to, but it always seemed like it was a struggle.

"Rita, you need to make sure you stress that this entire thing is about promoting unity and better relations between the Pureblood families and the Ministry," she repeated the words Kingsley had poured into her on numerous occasions.

Rita nodded her head. "Yes, yes. But what about the wedding? What's the guest list look like? And what about Ronald Weasley – your old flame – is he invited?"

Hermione sighed. She should have known this was going to go in that direction. It was what Rita was best at.

"Listen. The most important thing that should be present in this article is exactly what I said before, 'unity and better relations.'" She leaned in closer to Rita, making sure she had her full attention. "That's all that matters."

"Oh alright," she said in a great huff. "But I'd imagine people would be thrilled at something that smelled of normalcy."

"No. Marrying Draco Malfoy is not exactly something I'd say is 'normal,' Rita."

Saying his name aloud, once again brought her enemy to the forefront of her thoughts. She was still troubled by the idea of looking for a spell to get around Draco's demand for 'allegiance'. She hoped Kingsley was already working on that issue, otherwise her mission was a decidedly useless thing.

Rita watched Hermione as she fidgeted in her seat for a few moments, toying with the edge of her robe. Her suspicions were rising. "You seem . . ." she glanced over Hermione's form once more, ". . . odd."

Hermione's eyes dashed back to Rita's and she frowned at the older woman. "And how exactly do you expect me _to _act?"

Rita cocked her head to the side. She brought a pen up to her lips. "I don't know, you seem _nervous_. On edge." She pointed her pen at Hermione across the table. "Is there something going on that you haven't told me?"

Hermione scoffed. "There's loads that I'm not telling you, Rita. You know that." She glanced once more at the door over Rita's shoulder and felt her heart stop.

Her mind and the world around her seemed to tilt to the side. Of all the people she'd expect to walk into the Leaky Cauldron, he was the last one she anticipated.

She shot up out of her seat grabbing Rita's wrist as she went. "Come on," she commanded. Not yet knowing where to go, but grateful that the bartender, Tom, was able to distract her unwanted company. Likely knowing that someone like _him_ was up to no good in a place like this.

Rita gasped at her sudden movement. "What?"

Hermione yanked on her to follow and ran up the stairs they had been sitting under previously.

Rita's face had paled, expecting perhaps that the Dark Lord himself was on their heels. Associating with Hermione Granger was sure to get her into trouble someday. She should have known better.

She clutched her handbag to her chest and followed the younger girl up the stairs, not even bothering to look at who it was that had gotten Hermione's attention.

Hermione didn't know what she was doing, but she couldn't stop the thudding of her heart in her chest as she began to tug on door knobs down the hall, frustrated when one after another were all locked.

She nearly cried out in desperation, and could hear the clatter behind her as Rita followed her example and was yanking and clawing at doors to try to get them open on the opposite side of the hall.

Between the two of them, the witches seemed to completely forget they could, in fact, use magic to open the doors.

They came upon the door at the end of the hall all in the same moment, and Rita looked to Hermione desperately, her glasses skewed on the tip of her nose, her mouth slightly agape.

Hermione should have felt ashamed for the way she was acting, but couldn't manage to let that eclipse the feeling of sheer panic that was soaring through her.

She jammed her hand into her robe and withdrew her wand, casting a desperate glance over her shoulder and seeing a large silhouette approaching the top of the stairs down the hall opposite them. She silently cast the _Alohomora_ charm and watched as the door popped open.

Rita was first to dash into the cramped closet and Hermione quietly closed the door behind them. She stuck her ear to the surface of the glossy wood door and listened as the light footsteps came closer and closer to their hiding spot. Even Rita's breath, which a moment ago was coming in quick gasps against Hermione's neck, was abated as she listened to the approaching footfalls.

Hermione squinted into the dark and wondered why it was that the person had stopped so suddenly. So close to the door they stood behind.

There seemed to be some hesitation, before the steps began to retreat back down the hall and she waited to hear them descend down the stairs before she stepped away from the door. She shrugged her shoulder roughly to dislodge Rita from where she had been leaning heavily on her.

She exhaled the breath she had been unconsciously holding. She rested her head against the cool surface of the door once more and grimaced.

How was it that she could charge into a room full of hooded dark wizards without hesitation, but _he_ could send her fleeing in barely contained terror?

But was it really terror? Was she finally allowing him to get to her? Or was it anxiousness and dread, combined with bad timing that had made her react so unpredictably?

She shook her head lightly. She could only imagine the smirk that would be on his face had he found her crammed in the closet with Rita. She was grateful she had been able to avoid that.

She could feel Rita scoot up closer to her and whisper, "Was it _You Know Who_?"

Hermione shook her head and smiled slightly. "No, it was Malfoy."

Rita jerked back from her. "What?" she hissed.

Hermione remained silent, appalled at her own actions.

Rita spluttered, "What in the name of Merlin is wrong with you?"

Hermione pursed her lips and heaved a heavy sigh. "I simply don't want to see him right now." That lame explanation would have to do.

Rita was silent for a moment, but then the enchanted light in the closet blinked on with enough intensity that Hermione had to shield her eyes from it for a moment.

Rita seemed ready to strangle Hermione, a scowl placed almost comically on her face. Rita seemed to be assessing her, looking her over critically. "Is this why you're so nervous?"

Hermione averted her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly. "I'm not nervous, like I said, I just don't want to talk to him right now."

Something in Rita's countenance seemed to change rapidly. Her scowl readily replaced with a knowing smile.

Rita brought her hands together suddenly. "Oh, Hermione," she gushed. All ill feelings from a moment ago dispelled. "Clearly you're just nervous because you like the man so much." She leaned in closer to Hermione. "I don't blame you, dear."

She sighed whimsically, "Obviously you've been in love with him since you two were in school." She shook her head. "It's so obvious to me now, why didn't I see it before?" she mused.

Hermione could only gape at her. _No, that's not it at all, _was what she wanted to say.

Rita made as though to go around Hermione who suddenly jumped into action.

"Where are you going?"

Rita looked at Hermione's body which was blocking her exit from the dusty smelling closet.

"Move aside, you silly girl. I need to speak to Draco."

Hermione shook her head and planted her hands on either side of the door forcefully. "No, you won't."

They regarded each other for a moment before Rita's smile once more spread across her face. Her laughter was shrill and especially annoying now that they were in such a confined space. She nearly let out a snort, which was meant to disarm Hermione as she suddenly lunged for the door knob.

They struggled for a moment and Hermione's wand was knocked onto the floor, closely followed by Rita's gaudy green glasses. Her enchanted pen was wildly recording things on the sheet of parchment above their bent forms as they struggled with one another. It swayed from side to side to avoid being clobbered by them.

Rita had grabbed onto Hermione's bruised and tender forearm and she immediately let the reporter go. Rita got as far as grabbing the door handle when Hermione grabbed her by the waist and had her flush against the door, attempting to wrench her away from it.

They fell back onto one another, and Rita's elbow dug painfully into her stomach as the door was shoved open from the outside.

Draco looked into the room and the woman that were lying on one another. The enchanted light that was attached to the ceiling was swinging back and forth above them, casting eerie shadows on the three.

Rita's pen came to a halt at his entrance, but began to scribble furiously once more.

He raised a single eyebrow at the two. "Well, isn't this a precarious position to find you two in?"

Hermione finally recovered from her initial shock and shoved Rita off of her, rubbing the bruise that was sure to swell up on her abdomen from the woman.

"Draco Malfoy, how lovely to see you here on this fine day." Rita gestured lamely around the small closet. From her position on her knees on the ground, she searched out for her glasses. She picked up Hermione's wand in the process and pushed it into the young witch's chest as she came to a standing position.

Hermione snatched it from Rita's grip and held it tightly in her suddenly clammy hand. Keeping it ready just in case.

Rita sidled closer to Draco and didn't even stop at his contemptuous look that was cast her way.

"We were just discussing you, my dear man." She smiled at him widely, but noticed he only had eyes for Hermione, who in turn was watching her with a rather desperate and irritated look.

Never one to miss out on a good story she turned her eyes back to Draco. "Do you have anything you want to say? About the wedding? Or about Viktor Krum, perhaps?"

"What about him?"

Rita looked scandalized. "What about him? He and Hermione have been together for the past six months and even dated before that, I'm sure you know."

Draco smirked at Hermione and the dumbfounded expression she had on her face. She should have seen this coming – but she didn't.

She realized the spot he had her in. And judging from the expression he had on his face, he knew that too.

She clenched her jaw and subtly shook her head from left to right. She couldn't risk exposing herself to Rita. And the story of her faked relationship with Viktor Krum was sure to be the thing that would cause the public to turn their backs on her. Especially after they found out about her engagement to Malfoy.

Draco smiled then, an altogether unpleasant thing in Hermione's eyes, and he opened his mouth poised to answer.

Hermione lunged forward and made a grab for the door handle that was just behind Draco.

He blocked her with the mass of his body, and instead, dragged the door closed behind him as he stepped inside. He took one step closer to the women, and they collectively took one back.

Draco chuckled lightly.

There had been little space for Rita and Hermione to stand in the closet before, so adding Malfoy to the mix was making their assemblage less than comfortable.

The women seemed unsure of what to expect.

Hermione continued to glare mildly at Draco's chest with her arms folded across her, as Rita fanned herself lightly with her hand.

Rita seemed flushed and was glancing anxiously from Hermione to Draco, letting her eyes wander over Draco's upper body and face.

Rita daintily cleared her throat after it became apparent the other two occupants of the room weren't going to initiate anything on their own.

"Well, like I said before, we were just talking about you." She cast Hermione a quick glance. "Hermione seems to be quite a bit nervous about your wedding. She was telling me only a few moments ago that you are having the arrangement in two weeks."

Draco refused to remove his gaze from Hermione, instead answering Rita in a bored, contemptuous tone.

"Yes the ceremony will be a rather large one. In two weeks exactly, at the Malfoy Manor. As far as Krum goes, I think the better man won in this instance." He smirked at Hermione, taking in her furious expression.

"Be sure to write in your article that Hermione has always preferred me to that moron Ronald Weasley, and that Viktor Krum was merely a distraction for her."

Rita Skeeter gasped at that. "It's just as I suspected then, you and Hermione have fancied one another for years now."

Hermione finally met Draco's stare and wondered how he didn't burst into fire under her gaze.

If possible, he lifted his chin even higher. "Yes, that's exactly right."

Hermione wanted to scream at the two of them, the idiots. But as it were she'd have to suffer from the embarrassment a little while longer. Draco's lies were creating a storm.

Rita was practically about to burst at the seams. "Oh, it's fantastic!" It was just the scandal she was itching for, and involving the prim and proper Hermione Granger, no less. The truth of the matter made little difference. The story was going to be fantastic.

She gestured to them wildly. "Come now, get together for a picture for the paper. This is going to be on the front page tomorrow, you know."

Draco stepped forward towards Hermione, relishing in her discomfort. There wasn't room for them to stand shoulder to shoulder, so she twisted away from him and pressed her back up against the wall. Draco took a similar position opposite her and watched her try to press herself further into the wall behind her in an attempt to stay away from him.

She glared fiercely at this chest and wondered how it was that she and Rita had wrestled in there, quite comfortably, but that Draco's robes were brushing against hers as they stood opposite one another.

She could practically feel his breath on her face, and he had strategically inserted one of his boots in-between hers. She scowled even harder at the gleeful noises Rita was making and cast the woman a disgusted look.

"Closer, now," she chirped.

Draco suddenly wrapped his arms around her lithe form and pulled her into his chest.

She gasped from being thrust towards him so hard and brought her hands up to his chest to shove him away. She glared into his silver eyes for a moment.

"Smile for the camera, darling." His tone was sardonic, but was convincing enough for Rita.

He looked over at Rita and she followed his gaze, blinded by the flash of the wizard camera.

She wiped at her eyes for a moment before pushing away from Draco. She pushed passed Rita as well, intending to leave that instant.

"Where are you going?" His question came out like a command.

"Home," she replied as though it were a stupid thing to ask.

"I don't think that's a good idea, do you?"

She spun on him and wanted nothing more than to swipe that smirk off his face. She met Rita's intrigued gaze, so much easier to deal with.

"And why is that?"

"Isn't Krum still living at your home?" he asked, playing on innocence.

"Oh my!" Rita's wide eyes narrowed in on Hermione. "You can't live with your ex boyfriend while you're engaged to another man." She seemed truly shocked.

She could see the amusement on Draco's face without even having to look at him.

"That's actually why I was here. I came to retrieve you. You'll be staying at the Manor. There's a spare bedroom on the second floor you can use."

Hermione wanted nothing more than to scream at the man standing so smug in front of her. This was a mistake. With Rita as a witness, she was ready to murder him.

But no. She had to remind herself why she was doing this. Why she was sacrificing herself like this.

But she couldn't help the selfish chant in her head that kept on asking, '_Couldn't it have been somebody else?'_ Anybody else, to make this sacrifice. Hadn't she done enough, already?'

No. It had to be her. She knew that now, looking at him with that infuriating smirk in place.

Rita watched Hermione's expression with all of its subtle, yet rapidly changing emotions.

"Of course, you're right. How silly of me," she closed her eyes and slightly bowed her upper body. Let him smirk all he wanted. She had a few surprises in mind for him. Things he was certain to dislike.

Rita could feel the tension between the two. She had already gotten what she needed, so she excused herself and swept past Hermione, who threw her a meaningful look.

Draco leaned against the doorframe of the closet and smirked at Hermione.

She was trying her hardest to calm herself and took several rapid deep breaths. Schooling her features into an expression of mild frustration. That seemed the best she could do.

Her eyes met Draco's and her quick steps forward closed the distance between them.

He looked mildly amused and allowed her to force him back into the closet.

She slammed the door behind them and kept a comfortable distance from the man that she was supposed to call her husband very soon.

"How'd you find me?"

He smiled at her before thrusting his forearm forward and tapping his index finger against the slightly exposed skin there.

Her mouth hung open slightly. "You can locate me using that?"

He gave a slight shrug of the shoulder and dropped his arm back down to his side. "Something like that."

She scowled. Was it really possible the Vow would allow him to track her? Was the mark intended to be more than just a symbol? She'd have to look into that later. It was another obstacle in the impossible mission she was tasked with.

"What is it you really wanted, coming here after me?"

He cocked his head, and it seemed to her like the air in the room was being quickly depleted. She couldn't quite put her finger on the feeling, but she knew that it was familiar.

She felt hot, too hot. Her hand came up and tugged on the collar of her blouse under her robe. She glared at him for the peculiar way he was looking at her.

And really, just because she lacked anything else to do.

His expression lacked humor, but was overflowing with superiority. Something she simply couldn't stand coming from him.

She pursed her lips, again adjusting the collar on her blouse.

"I've already told you, I'm here to take you to Malfoy Manor."

She scoffed at that. "Honestly, Malfoy. You expect me to buy that now? I told you before, Krum and I were never together. I don't see why there's the insistence."

But she knew perfectly well why.

Simply because he had a small amount of leverage on her and fully intended to use that to make her as miserable as he could. She was already going to have to catch up to Rita Skeeter and convince her to alter her article quite a bit. But she had leverage of her own in that situation.

But she now knew that dealing with Malfoy was going to be a full time job. She grimaced at the idea of trying to live with this double life. The issue of finding a way around that small little detail concerning the Vow was an entirely other thing all together.

He leaned against the wall once more and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I want to make sure nothing happens to you, with this Vow attached to me. What better way to do that than to have you come stay at the Manor?"

She glared at him. "I've managed just fine over the last few years on my own, I think. Two more weeks without your _protection_ won't kill me."

He scoffed. Advancing on her slowly – deliberately, he brought his hand up to her throat finding that his hand rested perfectly around it.

She bared her neck to him even further, allowing him to touch her.

She chanced on unpredictability.

"Seems to me you need to rethink that statement. Seeing as how you only nearly escaped death just recently."

She smiled at him and felt her pulse quicken under his palm. She brought her hand up to wrap around his larger one. "I only wonder, which of your friends it was that gave me this nasty little thing, Malfoy."

She was good at playing games. In a room between the two of them, she found him much easier to deal with. No witnesses.

He made a sound deep down in his throat that she felt vibrate through her. He pressed his body against hers, tightening his grip on her throat as he did so.

"Did he tell you straight away? Come to your home and tell you about how he almost killed the Mudblood? Almost strangled the life right out of her." She whispered the words quietly, watching as the expression on his face crinkled around the edges.

"He was roused by another one of your chums after Harry knocked him out. Since the coward apparated before the battle was over, I assumed he was your friend. I'm right of course."

Her hand tightened on his, making his hold on her throat tighten as well.

She dared him to tighten his grip. Dared him to lose his control. She stared into his eyes as his gaze darkened.

She knew exactly how to play him. Knew that just below that calm surface of control, there raged a monstrous beast. She'd seen it before. She was certain she'd see it again, too.

"Come on now, Draco, I know you want to," she whispered quietly.

He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them, his gaze had brightened, his resolve firmly in place.

"You've become quite the violent person, you know that?" He shoved away from her suddenly.

She smiled at him triumphantly. Her hand going to close on the knob behind her. She was slightly unnerved by her actions, as well. She had gambled, and won. But if she had lost - there would have been more than her pride to piece back together.

"I'll be at the heap of trash you call a home at six p.m. sharp. Don't make me give you what you so desperately seem to want." The threat hung between them.

She opened the door and slipped out. There was much to accomplish in a short amount of time. But she worked well under pressure. Worked well in the face of staggering odds.

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I'd like to thank everyone for the continued interest in this story. I'm rather excited to be writing it, so it's always nice to know that people are enjoying reading it. **Thank you to Midnight's Ghost, kaitward, Helen3616, Jade2099, Darkness' Embrace(Flicka), soccerg95, Dhom, and Fuzzypiinkslippers** for the reviews and alerts. I really appreciate the time that you took to leave remarks. And as always feedback and criticism is loved.


	6. Sometimes it's Better This Way

Thanks to my beta FMD for her invaluable help with this chapter. Much love to her.

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**Simply Neurotic**

**Chapter 6**

**Sometimes it's Better This Way**

She had been fooled. Fooled into thinking there was one place left on the planet she could retreat to – disappear to. But she should have known better. She should have realized they would find her. Invade her last stronghold.

So she felt the anger sweep through her, and her thoughts turned to ones of retribution. She felt oddly violated – and reckless.

She tightened her grip on her wand and toed the door to her home open. She had apparated to the edge of the grounds to her house and found that the front door was already open, swinging lightly on the breeze that was coming through the meadow.

She glanced around the room, anticipating an attack of some sort. She felt a harsh stab of disappointment when nobody was there to confront her. She looked over her living room, and everything seemed to be in its proper order.

But there was no way she had left the door open when she left earlier. She simply couldn't afford to be that careless. And Viktor wasn't supposed to be home until the morning.

And so that nagging presence in the back of her mind, cautioned her in her actions. Warned her to not be too hasty. Draco Malfoy had found his way into her home only a few nights ago, who's to say that a more powerful adversary couldn't do the same.

She glanced towards the kitchen as she heard the familiar clink of dishware against dishware. She narrowed her eyes and stilled her breathing. For some odd reason, she found the idea of the intruder helping themselves to her food offensive.

Shaking the nonsensical thought from her mind, she focused on the situation at hand. Someone was in her home. Possibly more than just _one_ someone, at that. The image of the hooded green eyes of her would-be strangler flashed through her vision, and she realized she might find herself in a similar situation very soon.

She had never confronted a Death Eater entirely on her own.

But that thought only served to fuel her steady progress down the hall.

She was capable. She was a skilled and competent dueler, and she had to get used to the idea of being alone. Because that's exactly what she would be as soon as she set foot into Malfoy Manor.

Her mind wandered, and she thought of Viktor. Of the fact that she was leaving _him_ alone.

She felt herself giving into the growing hope that it was Viktor that was in her kitchen – perhaps he was home early. She realized that she craved his presence desperately. But she knew better than to give into false hopes. She was only setting herself up for disappointment. It was much easier to assume the worst, because nine times out of ten, the worst was a certainty.

She jerked. "Ron?" she asked quietly.

He had come around the corner, two cups of tea in his hands. He frowned at her. "Expecting someone else?"

She scowled, irritated at both his tone and response. "This is _my_ home, _Ronald_. I wasn't expecting anybody, to be frank."

She gestured to the two cups in his hands. "Viktor here?"

He let out a scornful laugh, avoiding her gaze. "No. Not now, anyways. This one's for you," he said, shoving the hot cup into her hand suddenly.

She took it from his grasp and nearly dropped it as it sloshed halfway up her wrist.

She cursed and threw him a heated glare, only to find that he had a peculiar expression on his face. His gaze was directed at her wrist.

The mark from the Unbreakable Vow.

She hadn't intended for him to see that. She scowled at nothing in particular, trying to ease the anxious feeling that had settled in her stomach.

The relief to find that it wasn't a Death Eater lurking about in her home, was quickly dashed aside at finding Ron there, instead.

He was the last person she had expected to come face-to-face with. Voldemort had been a much more likely candidate. And suddenly, that idea sobered her up. When did it come to the point where facing a Death Eater was preferable to facing Ron?

They lingered a little while longer in the hall, neither saying anything, and she could feel all of the unsaid words – all of the unspoken feelings – crowd them.

She turned abruptly and walked into her living room, setting her tea onto the newly repaired coffee table.

She could feel his gaze on her, resting heavily. And she couldn't stand to meet his stare, screaming of accusation and betrayal.

"Malfoy, huh?" he asked quietly.

She felt herself tense as though for an attack. She should have known this was coming. She pursed her lips and nodded her head. "It's only a mission you know. Unity and strength," she repeated diligently. But even to her ears, it sounded like a lie told too many times.

He nodded his head. Clearly willing to play along with the string of untruths. And that was the standard for them. "Yeah, that's what McGonagall said."

"Where'd Viktor go?" she asked hastily. Normally she was careful to avoid sensitive topics with him. Viktor was one – their past was another.

But anything other than her impending marriage to the notorious Death Eater was a better topic at the moment.

And the fact that Ron wasn't privy to the delicate particulars of her mission – spying on Malfoy, namely – made it that much harder to dance around. She was grateful McGonagall had had enough sense to not tell him. Having Harry in on it was enough. But then again, that too, seemed to be the standard.

"Came through already. I was waiting outside for you to show up – I'd just missed you at the Ministry. He said he was back a bit earlier than planned but he'd lost his key for this place, and had to go to the Headquarters to talk to McGonagall." His glare had yet to leave her. "And don't worry, McGonagall did the messy part for you. Filled him in on all of the developments since he's been gone."

She nearly flinched at that. The combination of his expression the news that Viktor had to find out from someone else, was enough to make that guilt reflex in her chest tighten its hold on her.

She had planned on leaving him a letter explaining the situation, and so she suddenly felt miserable that the opportunity to explain everything was stolen from her.

"He said he's going to be staying with Oliver Wood for a while before McGonagall can find space for him at the Headquarters."

Something about the way he was staring at her, made her unreasonably nervous.

She frowned instead. Glancing up at the clock above Ron's head, she saw that it was nearly five-thirty.

She felt herself jerk from the realization that Malfoy would be arriving soon. She bit her lip, trying to not show how anxious she was suddenly feeling.

Ron had yet to say anything else. He just continued to assess her.

"I'm sorry, I don't have time to deal with this right now, Ron." She was intent on packing and having him out of there before Draco showed up. She could only imagine what the ensuing confrontation would result in if Ron was still there. With as volatile as she knew him to be, it would undoubtedly be disastrous.

She could only imagine how awkward it was for Viktor to show up with Ron on their doorstep, right after having to find out that she was marrying Malfoy – and from McGonagall no less.

She suddenly felt like she was losing control. So many things were out of her hands – things that concerned her directly, and she resented that.

She walked to her bedroom and grabbed a suitcase out of the closet. She was hoping he would take the not so subtle hint, and leave. But no such luck.

"You know, he told me something odd, 'Mione," he started, picking through the items she was packing away.

Her heart stilled, '_Dear god, no.'_ She looked at him through the corner of her eye tentatively.

He fixed her with a heavy stare. She was beginning to think it would be easier if he went back to avoiding looking at her. It was easier to deal with. Easier to accept. And certainly easier to ignore.

He moved towards her quickly, grabbing the nightshirt from her hand and tossing it in the general direction of the suitcase.

"I just can't understand why you did it." He was closing in on her, advancing two steps for every one she took back. His hand when through his hair in irritation.

He didn't say anything else. He seemed to be waiting for _her_ to say something, instead. Perhaps for her to deny knowing what he was referring to. But she couldn't.

She shamelessly avoided looking at him, instead choosing to stare at her bedspread. But he made even that impossible by standing nearly on top of her, her back arching over the edge of her dresser to avoid contact.

"Why'd you lie to me? To Harry? Tell me, Hermione – I can't figure out why you let us think you were with Krum this entire time."

She could no longer avoid him as he grabbed a hold of her arms almost roughly. She couldn't stand the accusing look he had in his eyes, the crinkles along the edges that told her he was breaking.

But she wouldn't close her eyes to it. She deserved to see what she was doing to him. She deserved to witness the pain and anguish in his eyes. Because she had ignored it for far too long.

She pursed her lips. The answer should have been clear. He either didn't want to see it, or needed her to say it aloud.

She allowed her thoughts to wander into the past. Dance over the memories she tried to keep hidden and buried. But it was still too real to ignore. To painful to dash aside.

She shook her head lightly. She and Ron had been engaged to be married, but then. . .

No. She couldn't allow herself to think of that time. Of that period of lying and deceit. It only reminded her of what real pain was.

She still couldn't face those memories. Those fearful, traitorous days. Those heartbreaking moments of true awareness and tortured bliss.

So she'd lie to him again. Lie to save herself the embarrassment and he, the heartbreak.

And that was the irony of the situation. She had been buried in a heap of deception while they were together, and to save herself from that, she had broken off their engagement, but since that moment, the lies had morphed. Altered themselves and grew to grotesque proportions. She lied to cover up past lies – to save him from the pain of knowing the truth.

And so it became something that defined their relationship – their lies. Or rather, her lies, and his ready acceptance of them.

But it finally seemed like that wasn't enough for him, he wanted the truth.

Her relationship with Viktor had started out of a genuine need for a connection. She had just broken it off with Ron, and Viktor showed up to help her along the way. But it hadn't taken them long to realize that it wasn't going to work.

And that's when Viktor became her excuse for not getting back together with Ron. Something that had surprisingly started at Viktor's suggestion.

"We figured it would be easier that way with the public. You remember how they ate up the story. How they loved the idea of something that seemed normal. That's all it was. A ploy."

Ron shook his head. "No. Don't give me that load."

"What else do you want me to say, Ron?" She shook out of his grip, but he was quick to grab hold of her once more.

"Stop it," he nearly shouted. "Stop lying to me. Stop lying to Harry."

No. She never lied to Harry, could never bring herself to. There were things that he knew, things that even _she_ refused to acknowledge. Harry was her one connection to the world she once loved. The one she fought to get back to. The one that she wished for desperately, but saw slipping further and further away. A faded memory, preserved only in a photo.

"Don't we mean anything to you anymore?" His voice was pleading.

He was so strong. So unbelievably powerful and undeniably loyal – but she was destroying him, and he couldn't seem to let her go. Looking into her eyes, he saw the remorse there. He saw the regret and grief, but that was all he saw. There was no love. There was no aching need. There was nothing but regret, and that was the last thing he wanted from her. He ached for something much more powerful. More tangible.

Not her pity. He despised her sympathy and pity.

She couldn't stand the look that he was bearing upon her. She knew that he was hurting. And she could stop it, if she wanted to. If only she wanted to. But she couldn't give him what he needed.

She pulled her arms from his grasp and shoved at his chest. "You've got to go Ron," she gasped out. She could feel the tears rising to the surface. Tears of anger and regret. She knew what she had done to him. Knew that she was the reason he seemed so lifeless.

But he was relentless. "No, Hermione. I deserve an answer."

"I've already told you," she all but cried.

"Told him what?" a cold voice asked from the threshold of her bedroom.

Her heart stopped in her chest and she could feel Ron go rigid against her before they both redirected their attention to the intruder.

They both seemed at a loss for anything to say and simply stared at him.

She regretted having left her front door open so carelessly. She shook her arms in an attempt to get away from Ron's grasp, but since Malfoy had entered the room, he seemed even less inclined to do so than before.

Malfoy fixed them with a cool, contemptuous glare, and she could feel the tension heighten as the two men locked gazes.

He cocked his head slightly to the side. "What exactly are you doing here, Weasley?"

Ron jerked away from her and placed himself in front of her body, as though to protect her from Malfoy.

"Could ask you the same thing, Malfoy," he spat.

Draco seemed uninterested with getting into a quarrel with Ron. He smiled, and without looking away from Ron's furious gaze, he said, "Let's get going then, I don't have all day."

She glared at him from behind Ron's broad build and back at her suitcase. She suddenly felt the immediacy of the situation.

She was moving in with Malfoy. She was _marrying_ Malfoy. _She was consorting with the enemy._

And the situation seemed all too real to her in that instant. She felt as though her entire life was forfeited in that moment, looking at Malfoy, with his infuriatingly calm expression and gait. She cast one look around her room and realized she may never see it again. Her sanctuary. The place where she was untouchable. Where she was free to dream and hope for a better place. Where the reality of things could be deceived.

She grimaced. Was she really going to give up her last bit of security? Her last bit of normalcy?

Her silence seemed deafening, and the anticipation of her response was evident.

Ron took a menacing step towards Malfoy and Hermione watched as Draco's lip quirked up at the corner.

She wanted to snatch out at Ron – warn him to keep his distance from Malfoy – but the words were caught in her throat as she watched the cruel intentions rise to the surface.

The look that transformed Malfoy's cool countenance was paralyzing.

"Hermione and I were having a conversation, Malfoy. She's not going anywhere right now."

Malfoy's laughter reverberated through the room and she took a step closer to Ron, stretching out her hand to stop his slow progression towards their enemy.

"Oh yes, I heard. It's about time she told you about that peculiar situation involving Krum." Malfoy's smirk was firmly in place and his eyes slipped to hers. The insinuation was clear.

She realized too late that his intent was to harm her, not Ron. But in the process he had damaged both of them.

Her hand stilled where it was, hanging in the air just out of reach of Ron's shoulder.

She could see him vibrating with anger, and for once, she was unsure of whether to move away from him, or clutch onto him.

So she was stuck in that nefarious limbo. Neither moving forwards nor backwards. Simply waiting for the events to unfold around her.

Ron slowly looked over his shoulder, casting her a look that was equal parts fury and disgust.

He couldn't seem to formulate the words, and merely stared at her. His fists shaking at his sides and his back hunched. His lips quivered.

"Ron," she choked out. "It's not like that – "

"Sure it is," Malfoy supplied, a deceivingly pleasant smile on his face.

Ron merely shook his head and walked away from her, pausing at the threshold of her room next to Malfoy. Neither looked at the other. Malfoy's eyes were trained on Hermione, and Ron's were clenched shut. Willing himself to maintain control.

Hermione's heart stopped as she waited for either of them to move. She took a step forward and Ron did the same. Forcing himself to leave her home, before he did something disastrous.

And she stood there in the center of her room, gaping after him, her hand still raised in the air in front of her.

She recoiled as soon as Malfoy made a move towards her, and she removed her focus from her front door that had been slammed shut a moment before, and focused it instead on Malfoy's gloating face.

"Come now, Granger. You can't honestly say you're upset over that?" His tone was mocking and she felt herself tense.

"You had no right, Malfoy. No right to hurt him like that," she whispered, clenching her fists and closing her eyes.

Control. She needed to maintain control.

But it was _so_ bloody hard.

She could feel it – the rush of emotions threatening to overtake her. But this wouldn't have happened if she hadn't allowed Malfoy to know what her weaknesses were.

But it was as though he knew exactly which blows to land, and where to direct them. Her friends – her family, she valued above her own life. Placed ahead of her own needs and Malfoy was relentless in exploiting that.

He was intent on destroying her, by tearing down everyone she knew. She could feel her labored breathing, on the verge of fury tainted tears.

She could hear him chuckle lightly, and could imagine the satisfied expression that would be on his face when she opened her eyes.

She shook her head. No, she couldn't do this. She couldn't marry someone who was so bent on hurting those she cared about most.

Her eyes snapped open and she took a hasty step back. Malfoy was uncomfortably close. But the thought that bothered her the most was that she hadn't even heard his approach.

"Now get your things and let's go," he said in a clipped, cruel tone.

She began to shake her head from side to side and his smirk slowly widened.

"You have two minutes, Granger." His breath feathered over her face, but she refused to back down.

"No," she said, finally.

"No?" he asked quietly.

And it was the fact that he was so quiet that unsettled her. It was shockingly deceptive.

He cocked his head to the side and regarded her for a moment. He suddenly moved around her and grabbed her suitcase. It was still open so he began to open her drawers and sift through her belongings, occasionally shoving handfuls of clothes into the suitcase carelessly. He moved quickly, steadily.

She stood gaping at him before her body caught up with her mind. She charged towards him, intent on doing _something_.

"I said 'no,'" she shouted. "The deal's off, Malfoy." She shoved him with all of her strength, alarmed when he barely budged.

He cast her a contemptuous look. One that spoke volumes.

He began to go about his business once more, paying her no more attention than he would a petulant child.

She couldn't stand the feeling of powerlessness that was tearing through her.

She wouldn't tolerate it.

She looked at her wand that was resting on top of the dresser and snatched for it.

Malfoy's hand shot out like lightening and he clutched her wand in front of her face, before smirking and pocketing it.

"You—," she gasped desperately, "—_can't do this to me," _she seethed, launching towards him.

His arm thrust out in front of him, effectively blocking her. He grabbed hold of the front of her robes and thrust her bodily towards the bed, nearly lifting her off the floor in the process.

He went back to going through her things, as though she were nothing more than a mere distraction. She leaped to her feet, prepared to attack him from behind.

His hands stopped their movements, and he turned to her, a green negligee held from the tip of his index finger. He cocked an eyebrow at her, amusement playing around the edges of his lips.

She could feel herself flush immediately, all thoughts of attack evaporated at the mortification she felt.

She lunged for the piece of lingerie he held in-between his fingers, and nearly screamed out in frustration as he held it just above her reach. Then, watching her, he added it to the suitcase and the pile of clothes he had decided she _would_ be taking.

She sneered at him, crossing her arms over her chest. In an odd moment of self-consciousness, she backed away from him, reevaluating her tactics.

Her desperate gaze landed on her suitcase and she began to take arm fulls of clothes out of the luggage and tossed them ruthlessly onto the floor.

He rounded on her with a furious look in his eyes. He approached her slowly, never uttering a word, and gripping the shirt she had in her hand, tugged her towards him. She stumbled gracelessly into his chest and glared up into his suddenly emotionless face.

She let out a deep breath, riddled with pent up frustration and barely restrained aggression.

He slipped the garment from her hands and put it back into the suitcase, never removing his gaze from hers.

His change in attitude was unnerving, and she felt immobilized by his stormy grey eyes, watching her so intently.

And like that, the moment was over.

Apparently deciding he was done, he walked away from her and shut the suitcase swiftly, grabbing her arm as he went. The suitcase in one hand and her struggling body in the other.

"Let go," she seethed, prying at the hand that had a death grip on her upper arm.

Seeing she was getting nowhere, she ground out, "You're hurting me, Malfoy."

He cast her look that said that he knew better.

She screamed out in sudden frustration, grabbing onto the couch as they struggled past it. She clung for the life of her and looked towards the fireplace.

Her photo. She had been able to repair it after all, and she couldn't leave without it. She had no idea when she'd see the light of day after entering Malfoy Manor. Promises of freedom or not, she didn't trust his word.

She kicked out at him and struggled against his unyielding body with his steady pace towards the door.

She felt the desperation reach her in waves and the tears were threatening to flow.

She had never felt so powerless. Had never felt so achingly inadequate as she did in those moments, and she resented him for it. Hated him for it.

She sobbed as they thrust through the front door, and she dug her heels into the soft soil outside her home.

But it was no use.

He was stronger – more powerful, and this was a lesson in humility.

She cast one final glance at the last link to the life she had long ago since departed from. The one she craved to return to.

And he was trampling on all of that.

"Malfoy, my photo," she managed through her gasping and tugging.

He continued to ignore her as they approached the apparation point near the end of her property.

She felt panic run through her. She tried for one last vicious tug. "_Draco_, please," she sobbed fiercely.

But she was too late, she could already feel the familiar and uncomfortable tug at her center. They were already departing.

But Malfoy looked to her suddenly in that moment, and seemed disarmed. By her tone or the fact that she had said his first name, she wasn't sure.

* * *

This chapter was originally over ten thousand words, so it had to be separated. As much as I wanted to get to the Malfoy Manor, it didn't seem practical. So that part of the chapter will be submitted sometime tomorrow after I do the final edit, and it will stand alone as chapter seven. Won't be very long, and I've already got about a third of chapter eight done. I know that this is later than I had promised, but I hope that you'll forgive me for that, considering the length and amount of time that went into all of this.

_**Special thanks to ColdShivers, cullen's pet, Jade2099, BloodJewel, megjak, Darkness' Embrace, Midnight's Ghost, Solest, ArieonSeme, Haeli Elizabeth, Vicasaurus, Requiem for a Saint, and surfskittles for the support and fabulous words of encouragement. It wouldn't be the same without you guys. **_

_Feedback and criticism is loved.**  
**_


	7. Master Fixation

A million thanks to FMD for her lovely beta skills. She's been incredibly helpful and insightful.

* * *

**Simply Neurotic**

**Chapter 7**

**Master Fixation  
**

That pulling feeling that accompanies apparition was reaching its climax and she felt herself slipping.

There was solid ground beneath her once more and she grabbed her stomach with both hands. Malfoy was there next to her, still regarding her with a peculiar look.

"Well, good evening." She could hear Lucius intone behind her, but she wasn't the least bit interested in him. Her attention was focused solely on the incapably cruel man before her.

All that was on her mind was murder. She lunged at Malfoy suddenly but found that he was prepared for her. He grabbed at her wrists, but he wasn't able to hold onto them long without hurting her in the process.

"You've ruined everything," she accused, fighting for control of her body, but feeling the strength leaving her at each punch she was able to land on his chest.

She was exhausted. Her body was quickly giving out on her and the strength seemed to drain away.

Despite that, she kept struggling. Going on for far longer than she should have, but was unwilling to quit.

Draco seemed oddly patient, as he lazily defended himself, pushing and pulling her.

When her body finally gave out she leaned heavily into him. She struggled to contain her breathing as he held her forearms high up on his chest. Her head rested tentatively on the sleeves of her sweater, and she squeezed her eyes shut, conscious of how weak and pathetic she must have seemed. The urge to cry was tearing at her from the inside, and she swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. She wasn't going to give him another excuse to belittle her.

She was suddenly thrown from his body and a new set of hands caught her. She stumbled for a moment and mustered the strength to throw Draco a resentful look. Hoping that she could translate the feelings her body was experiencing to him. Trying in one look, to show him the depth and strength of her hatred.

"Take her to her room and make sure Garvin watches over her," Draco demanded, a cold look settling over his features.

His eyes held Hermione's gaze and he understood the feelings he saw there. Knew them all too well because they mirrored his own. The scorn and disdain that he felt for her and her cause. Her righteous crusade. His lips pulled back into a sneer and she only narrowed her eyes at him. She looked wild and unnatural. Like some sort of deathly creature of retribution. Her hair in her face and her eyes more alive than he recalled ever seeing them.

"Of course," Lucius replied, taking her by the arm and leading her through the room.

Draco promptly turned and left through another entrance to the sitting room they were in, and she found that she couldn't take her eyes off of his retreating form.

She suddenly came to herself and shrugged out of Lucius' grasp roughly, choosing instead to walk behind him.

She wondered at the dynamics of the relationship between the two Malfoys. It was strange to see the older man taking orders from his son. She was certain there was something else going on there.

She settled into the eerie calm, the only sound being Lucius' shoes tapping rhythmically against the marble floor, followed by her quiet shuffle. She glared at every door, every painting on the ornate walls, expecting to be targeted and attacked at any moment. She met the prying gazes of the people in the paintings, the disdainful and suspicious looks, with vicious glares of her own.

They had yet to exchange a word, and she was beginning to feel as though he was taking the long way to get to their destination.

As she was considering asking Lucius what was taking so long, she nearly slammed right into him as he came to an abrupt stop.

He opened an ornate door and gestured for her to enter. She slowly walked passed him, allowing herself to relax slightly as she entered into the room.

"A house elf will be with you shortly," he supplied, and then shut the door behind her.

She sighed heavily and glanced around the room, wondering briefly who it was that had brought her suitcase upstairs.

But the answer to that should have been obvious. It was no secret the Malfoys kept a dozen house elves at their disposal.

She idly opened the luggage and gazed forlornly at the articles of clothing that had been tossed inside. She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her arms, trying to loosen the tense muscles.

She cast a quick look around the room. She frowned at how lavishly it was decorated. She shouldn't have been surprised, but she had hoped her room would have been a bit less inviting. It would have made her feel justified in the feelings that were coursing through her. It would have made hating the situation a lot easier.

But she was still missing the one thing that would have made the situation much more pleasant: her photo.

It was the only object in the world she had any real attachment to. She'd gladly give up any number of her books in exchange for it. Even, _Hogwarts, a History._

She sighed once again, looking at the bed that stood in the center of the room, so high she'd nearly have to hop up to get on it. It looked so inviting, and she felt her shoulders sag forward– but she simply couldn't. As exhausted as she was, there was a reason she was there. A reason that was more important than her sleep.

There was a door off to the side she'd noticed upon entering the room, so she walked swiftly over to it, and threw it open with one shove.

A bathroom greeted her and she was mildly irritated to see it was decorated in the same fashion as the rest of her room – the rest of the house for that matter.

She contemplated her situation and ran her hands through her hair. She knew where she was in the house – approximately at least. She had tried to pay attention to the winding halls and abrupt turns, but she had the feeling Lucius hadn't taken the most _direct_ route to her room.

Her only option was to systematically search through the Manor and try to figure out where everything was. It would take a while, but she could get started right away.

She approached her door and opened it soundlessly, peeking out into the hall. She knew if she headed left, she'd be going the same way Lucius had led her from. She decided that going right was her best option.

"What is the Miss needing?" came a scratchy, grating voice from behind her.

She spun around, taking in the appearance of the creature before her.

Wrapped in little more than a rag, she watched him move back and forth on his feet, twisting his hands in front of him.

She frowned, at least it _looked_ like it was a _him_.

She decided quickly that he was the most pitiable creature she had laid eyes upon. She realized her gaze probably seemed appraising, so she tried smiling weakly at him.

As nervous as he seemed, he bore an expression of distrust and suspicion that caught her off guard.

She cocked her head at him. Realizing that she had been staring at him for quite some time, she started towards the small house elf.

He jumped back and then bowed slightly at the chest.

"Garvin is here to assist you, Miss," he said, keeping his posture slightly bowed.

"Oh, well, it's very nice to meet you, Garvin," she said lamely. She bit her lip, her days of S.P.E.W were far behind her. It had been a long time since she'd actually seen a house elf. And Dobby was still a distant, painful memory.

"My name is Hermione Granger," she said, inclining her head towards him.

Garvin looked at her from the corner of his eye, as though he was afraid to meet her gaze head on.

"Yes, Garvin knows this," he sniffed. "Master says for Garvin to gets you some food if you needs it, Miss."

"I'm fine, thank you. I ate before arriving," she lied.

He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded to himself.

She watched him for a few moments and wondered what he wanted. Money perhaps? Did the Malfoys pay their elves? Was that even possible? No, of course not. But she still couldn't explain why he was lingering there.

Deciding there were more important things to get to, she turned and opened the door once more.

The elf cleared his throat to get her attention. "Master says the Miss is not allowed to wander through the halls," he reported in his abrasive voice.

She turned to him. "Is that so?"

She was quickly finding that she didn't like the house elf very much. Between the scathing looks he was shooting her, and the nasty tone he was taking, she decided that ignoring him was the preferable thing to do.

She shook her head slightly, before tugging on the large door that led to the hall. She suppressed the gasp that threatened to escape from her when it was forced shut with a loud snap.

She glared at the door, before she spun around to look at the offensive creature.

"Garvin was told to make sure the Miss was as comfortable as possible, but Garvin cannot allows the Miss to leave her room."

She scoffed at the idea. She was acquainted with elf magic, but knew it was nothing compared to a witch or wizard's. She reached her hand into the pocket of her robe, fishing around for her wand.

She frowned. _Bloody hell_.

That bastard still had her wand. That devious, conniving arse.

She laughed. A hoarse, dry sound that seemed to catch the house elf off guard.

She couldn't believe her luck. Couldn't believe her life. Stuck, as it were, in the Malfoy Manor without any means of protection.

Suddenly, venturing out into the halls looked less inviting.

She sighed and leaned heavily against the door, rubbing her face with the palms of her hands.

Powerless. That's what he did to her. He made her feel powerless, because when it came down to it, all of the time spent studying and planning, a witch without a wand was exactly that.

No. Not yet. She wasn't defined by her ability to wave a wand. It was her cunning and wit that set her apart.

She perked up. Her shoulders squared, she looked over at the house elf that was still regarding her suspiciously through the corner of his eye.

"Garvin," she said. "I think I will take that meal you offered."

The house elf popped out of sight for a moment, but before she could even look around the room properly, he reappeared, tray in hand.

She looked at him impatiently. Getting rid of him was going to be a bit more difficult than she had thought. She gingerly took the tray from him, and turned to the bed, intent on eating as she plotted.

The house elf was careful to keep his distance from her, but was diligent in making sure she didn't leave his sight.

It was almost amusing how she'd see him watching her in her periphery, but as soon as she looked in his direction, he'd snap his head away, and pretend to be interested in some other obscure thing.

He really was a peculiar creature, and she realized her initial judgment of him was a bit harsh. He appeared to be rather intrigued by her, and rationalized that Malfoy had probably said some pretty nasty things about her, to Garvin. Likely trying to make sure he kept his distance, and wasn't easily persuaded by her.

The more she mulled it over, the more it made sense. Of course Malfoy didn't want her to gain the trust of the house elf. Who knew more about the family secrets, than one of its servants? She finished her meal quickly, but avoided the drink. She wouldn't put it past Malfoy to slip her some Veritaserum.

She nodded to the elf. "Thank you Garvin, the food was fantastic."

He snapped his fingers and the tray disappeared with a sharp '_pop'_.

She got up from the bed languidly and walked slowly into the bathroom.

XX

When she walked back into the bedroom, some ten minutes later, she was met with the anxious looking house elf, who, despite his nervousness, had yet to move from the spot she had left him in.

She wiped at her eyes, and sniffled once or twice.

The house elf regarded her with suspicious, hooded eyes.

She laid down on the edge of her bed, making sure she was facing him. She smiled weakly. "I think I'll just lie down now, Garvin."

He nodded his head, but didn't move.

She wiped at her eyes again, letting out a pitiable moan.

Garvin seemed to be getting increasingly uncomfortable. His eyes were dancing back to her every few moments, and he was tapping his fingers on his arm that was crossed over his chest.

When she repeated her movements a couple more times, the house elf moved towards her slightly.

"Is Miss not feeling well?"

"Oh no, Garvin," she sighed. "It's nothing like that." She bit her lip. "It's just that – oh, never mind," she said.

He walked a little bit closer, but kept out of reach.

"What's the matters, Miss?" he asked cautiously.

She began to openly sob into her hands, pulling on her frustration and guilt to fuel her tears.

She could see through the cracks in her fingers that he was fidgeting. Dancing back and forth on his feet, and glancing anxiously at the door to her room. He seemed to be nervous about someone hearing her.

So naturally, she upped the noise factor, wailing miserably into her hands.

"Shh, Miss. What is it you are needing?" he said hastily. "Tell Garvin."

She removed her hands from her face. "Well, it's just that – I'm so miserable right now, Garvin. I just want to go to sleep, but I can't."

"Why Miss? Are you needing a sleeping draught?" He brought his fingers up, poised to snap and bring her exactly that.

"No." She shook her head tentatively. "But there is something that might help," she ventured.

"Yes, tell Garvin," he pleaded, casting another fretful look at the door.

"I don't think you can get it for me, Garvin," she smiled at him weakly. "It's a difficult task."

He looked at her eagerly. "Tell Garvin what you needs, Miss. Garvin will make sure he gets it for you."

She schooled her features to look doubtful. "I don't know, Garvin."

His big ears were flapping in earnest as he nodded his head.

"Okay," she said slowly. "I need you to go to my home, Garvin. There's a photo there that I need – a photo of my family. It's in my bedroom, I think. Right in the nightstand drawer."

He seemed to be considering that. His hand came up to tap his head thoughtfully, but his eyes still looked at her suspiciously. "And this will make the Miss happy?"

She nodded her head. "But you have to make sure you find it, Garvin. I left in such a rush, it may be difficult to find."

He looked offended. "Garvin is smart. He can find the Miss's photo."

And with that, he was gone.

She blinked at the spot he had previously occupied. She brought her sleeve up to her face, and wiped away the tears she had conjured up.

She made a dash for the door. If Garvin really went to her house on the misguided hunt for her photo, then his magic would have no hold here.

She wrenched the door open to the room, a little too enthusiastically. She knew how to do wandless magic, but it was useless in most cases – choosing to work at the oddest of moments.

It was something she didn't like to talk about, naturally.

Getting Garvin to leave her alone was her best bet. That way he wasn't around to foil her plans of exploration.

She looked out into the hall, and found that it was empty. She wasn't sure how much time she'd have before he finally found the photo on her fireplace. It _was_ quite a bit higher than the house elf was sure to look.

She shut the door silently behind her and stuck to the original plan. The path that led right.

She stuck her ear to the first door she came to, but couldn't hear anything coming from the other side. She tentatively tried the door handle, and found that it opened easily in her hand. She stepped slowly into the cavernous room, and quickly realized it was an unoccupied bedchamber, judging by the dust and old fashioned furniture.

She retreated quietly and closed the door behind her.

The next door she came upon was flanked by two stone gargoyles that eyed her suspiciously. She deliberately walked past the first enchanted stone beast, and glared at it as it blew smoke at her through its nostrils.

She approached the door and set her ear against it lightly, unable to hear anything on the other side, just like with the last one. She brought her hand down to the knob and was aware of the two stone monsters watching her closely.

The knob didn't yield under her touch. She pursed her lips. She could be there all day if she tried to do wandless magic, and she wasn't sure that she had enough time to fool around with it anyways.

She frowned. There was something about the room, though. Something that called to her. She wanted to get inside, more than anything.

She glanced at the beast to her right and glared at it, as it snarled in her direction.

She slowly chanted the spell in her head, and concentrated her full efforts on the door. She could feel the magic, it was right there at her finger tips, but it seemed to fizzle out before reaching the lock.

Her first eight tries proved useless, and she huffed in irritation. The smoke that was puffing out in clouds from the gargoyles' noses was beginning to make her eyes burn. Suddenly furious and feeling resentful at again being powerless, she said the spell aloud.

She could hear her voice reverberate down the hall, but forgot about it as she heard the pop of the lock's mechanics. She cast one of the gargoyles a triumphant look, and let herself into the room cautiously.

She hastily stepped inside and pulled the large wooden door closed behind her. She looked around the room, and had to control the urge to not scoff at the obvious influence of the Slytherin House in everything from the bedspread and furniture, to the curtains and rugs.

She glanced around the room carefully, making sure she really was alone, before she ventured inside further.

She tried to ignore the evidence right in front of her. The room screamed of Death Eater. Screamed, "Draco Malfoy."

But even with that thought racing through her mind, she couldn't help but welcome the feeling of adrenaline that coursed through her. She knew it was stupid, but she also knew there was little that Draco could do to her if he found out she was in there. And she liked that idea.

She liked that she still held control over him. He was unable to harm her, so the opportunity to go sifting through his belongings made her heart pound tumultuously in her chest.

But she would do it with more tact than he had. She figured she still had a few more minutes at least before Garvin got back and found out she wasn't in her room.

And judging from how adamant Draco was about leaving her house at six p.m., and the haste he was in to leave as soon as they arrived, she felt confident he would be nowhere in the immediate area any time soon. And she would be long gone before he arrived. All she needed was to find something that she could report back to the Order. Something solid. Should be easy, if it really was his bedroom that she was rummaging through. And she felt confident that it was.

She kept spinning that logic in her head, telling herself that he was nowhere near.

But that didn't stop her hands from trembling slightly, or make her eyes stop traveling to the door, expecting his arrival.

She had found nothing resting on the table next to the armchair in front of the fire, and she felt the pressure to produce something from her risky venture into his room. Anything, that was the least bit incriminating.

Or perhaps her wand. Yes. What were the chances he stopped by his room before he left?

_No chance at all really._

She glanced over her shoulder once before making her way over to the bed that rested in the middle of the room, much like hers.

She let her hands dance over the nightstand, and her nimble fingers pulled out the only drawer in it, careful to make sure she knew exactly how to replace everything she looked through.

She could feel her heartbeat pound away in her ears, and she wondered if it sounded as audible to other people – because in the silence of the room, it was deafening.

She licked her lips, and finding nothing in the drawer, closed it silently.

As she was about to turn away, something caught her eye. In the vase full of dragonsnaps, she noticed a small card with elegant handwriting on it. She plucked it out of the arrangement, letting her curiosity get the better of her.

After all, who'd be sending Draco Malfoy flowers?

She looked it over, but realized that it was in another language. French, most certainly.

As she puzzled over the meaning of the brief note, she tried to commit the parting signature to memory.

It simply read, 'T.M.T.B.'

She frowned over it, running the initials through the catalogue of people she knew to be Death Eaters, and coming up blank.

But then the atmosphere in the room shifted, and she suddenly became aware that she was no longer alone. He heart thrummed violently in her chest with dreaded expectation. She sensed that he was near. Could feel him closing in on her.

It was an electrifying sensation – utterly terrifying.

She felt herself tense, and the hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end. She dropped the card in her hand, hoping it would glide to the floor unnoticed.

She lurched forward, but too late.

He grabbed her roughly and spun her around to face him, her hair whippingaround her in a torrent. His lips were pulled into a thin line, and his eyes had taken on a dark, dangerous look.

The flushed color of his cheeks was unusual, and telling of the inner battle he was having. His eyes seemed wild, barely controlled. They bore into her, and she had to stop herself from shrinking away.

She was paralyzed by him, not even having enough sense to pull away. She continued to meet his gaze, but for once, found herself truly terrified of him.

He was standing over her menacingly, with his shoulders pulled back. His hair was ruffled and uncharacteristically messy – completing the picture of perfect madness.

She breathed heavily, unable to look away. His expression was unreadable – unpredictable.

She tried to glare at him mildly, but didn't dare say anything.

His face began to go back to its normal, pale pallor, and his grip on her arms loosened incrementally.

She took her chances and jerked back from him, trying to keep some distance between their bodies. He let her go, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

But even standing as far from him as she was, she could still feel his body heat rolling off of him in waves. The situation became painfully clear to her then, as she glared up at him. It was the last place she had wanted to find herself. Cornered between him and his bed.

She attempted to take a step back and found that she was, indeed, pinned.

The inaction was making her anxious. She was good with fights. She was good with fists and elbows flying through the air, but his angry, tense seething left her unreasonably nervous.

His silence was unnerving because she didn't know what to expect.

It was the uncertainty of the situation that threw her. Their arrangement left them in a precarious situation. Engaged to marry, and locked in the eternal battle for power. For dominance.

She glared up at him mildly, still lost in the dangerous atmosphere of his dark grey eyes.

He was something of an enigma to her. But she felt undeniably drawn to him, because of that.

He took a full step closer to her – a full step there wasn't space for.

She brought her hands up in front of her, as though they provided her any sort of protection.

She could feel the bed pressing into her thighs and had to fight down the panic that surged through her.

She couldn't will her hands to stop their traitorous trembling, and she knew she must have looked weak to him in that moment.

As if rebelling against her own thoughts, she dared to look up at his face once more, plastering a mild glare in place.

And the look that was there was unfathomable, and infuriating all in one instant.

She could see him lurch forward, and she shouted, "Don't — ." Trying to make sure her hands were braced in front of her, but unconsciously avoiding touching him.

And he laughed. A loud, abrasive sound that was devoid of humor. Threw his head back and laughed.

She looked at him, slightly shaken.

And then he brought his face back down so his eyes reached hers, his composure in place once again.

"Don't what, Granger?" he asked softly, his voice deceptively calm and running roughly through her.

She slowly shook her head from side to side.

Finally, his anger began to show through. "Don't what, Granger?" he repeated, and she could see that he was fighting with his resolve.

"Just . . . don't," she answered simply.

He regarded her for a moment and again lurched forward.

This time she shoved against him forcefully, but he was a brick wall. His breath was feathering over her face, and she clenched his expensive shirt in her fists, tightly. Her hands strained against his chest, in an attempt to keep him at bay.

He slowly brought his hands up to hers and took both of them in one of his. She jerked violently from him, but he held her tight. In his other hand, he took hold of her throat lightly.

"If you wanted inside my bedchambers so badly, Granger, you should have just asked." He smiled at her dangerously.

She felt her eyes widen at his words, but she merely sneered at him, determined to try to gain back some control. Determined to prove she wasn't the weak minded woman he seemed to think she was.

"Do you feel that?" he asked quietly.

She glared at him.

"Your heart," he elaborated. "It's positively thrashing under my palm."

As if on cue, she could feel her pulse quicken. He smirked and his eyes met hers once more.

"I just wanted my wand back, Malfoy," she ground out.

He seemed to ignore her. "Are you frightened?"

No. She wasn't going to feed into his games.

He seemed to think she didn't understand. "Are you afraid of me?"

He was playing with her. It was all mind games, she realized that now. Felt irritated that she hadn't seen it sooner – because she had been playing right into his hands.

And yet, even knowing that fact, she couldn't help but still feel nervous.

Because she knew they weren't playing by the same rules.

No. She knew from experience that Malfoy didn't play by the rules. He didn't fight fair.

He leaned closer and she leaned back, bent precariously over his bed.

"Your wand," he started, "is in my pocket."

She jerked her hands from him once more, and was surprised when he let her go.

Was he insinuating what she thought he was? Was he daring her, with that hateful smirk, to take her wand from him?

It seemed to be the case.

She glared at him, fiercely. Determined to show him that she wasn't afraid of him, that she wasn't intimidated by his tactics.

And it was a bold faced lie, because she was bewildered and terrified of him at that moment.

She paused briefly and watched his face closely for any clues as to what he was getting at. What he was playing at.

It seemed to be the age-old game of 'make Hermione uncomfortable.'

And it was working.

She swallowed. "Which pocket?" she whispered, furious that her voice would fail her at that moment.

And he simply smirked at her, heightening her discomfort.

She scowled. Fine. If that's what he wanted, then she'd play.

Her eyes never left his, as she slowly extended one of her hands towards him. It shook slightly and she hesitated.

But then he cocked his eyebrow at her, as though it were a challenge. And she answered, because she never said 'no' to a challenge.

Her hand slipped into his cloak and dipped into the many pockets concealed inside. Her knuckles brushed the silk shirt he was wearing underneath, and it didn't take long before she could no longer stand the look on his face and instead stared at his chest.

But she could still see that smirk on his face in her periphery, and he seemed to be immensely enjoying himself. With his face so close to hers, he was free to let his gaze roam over her features, and she felt her face flush.

But as the time passed, she found his smirk more and more irritating, and it only fueled her frustration when one after another, his pockets turned up empty.

And then a rolling heat hit her, and she was stifled by it. She withdrew one of her hands from his robes and jerked on the collar of her blouse, but Draco seemed unaffected by her action, so she continued in her hurried search.

One of her hands came upon a pocket that was low on his waist and he suddenly jerked, covering her hand with his from the outside of his robes, effectively pinning her hand against his lower torso.

"Not that one," he murmured.

She jerked her hand away and scowled, finally coming upon her wand in the pocket below the last one.

She jerked her hands away from him and clutched her wand to her chest, adjusting the collar of her blouse again. Her robes suddenly seemed suffocating.

The heat that was covering her was unforgiving, but she wasn't sure what was bringing it on.

And Draco still had that insufferable smirk on his face, further adding to her frustration.

And so they stood there . . .

"You look tired, Granger."

She knew it wasn't a compliment. She knew that she undoubtedly looked pitiful. Still covered in bruises, and sleep deprived. She was working on two straight days without rest.

He had yet to move out of her way and the way he was looking at her was making her increasingly nervous.

She finally decided to try to make it past him on her own, and slowly, made a move to the right.

Her body fully pressed against his as she made her way past him, but the only alternative was to climb on top of his bed and go around – and that was decidedly, not an option.

She made it to the door, and he had yet to turn around and look at her. "Don't let me catch you in here again, Granger," his voice carried over to her. The threat was obvious, but it was his tone that made her quicken her pace.

Because she heard the '_or else'_ in that simple statement. And his tone promised of untold consequences.

When she glanced back inside the room as she shut the door, she could see him bend over, looking at something on the ground. His hand came up with the green card clutched between his fingers.

She hastily shut the door behind her and sprinted the short distance to her room, grateful to find that it was empty.

She threw herself into bed and tucked her wand under her pillow, wondering not for the first time, how she had found herself in this situation.

* * *

Man, I wonder what Draco is up to. That devious, conniving man. Gotta love him.

Thanks to everyone that reviewed that last chapter, it was much appreciated. **Megjac, cherryVanillaCoke16, kt, SoulessxWarrior, keepermarch, Darkness' Embrace, and Lady Mariel - you guys are fantastic!**

Criticism and comments are adored.


	8. Enter Your Sweet Delusion

Thanks goes to FMD for her fabulous beta skills. Her input and contributions to the story have been life saving

* * *

**Simply Neurotic**

**Chapter 8**

**Enter Your Sweet Delusion**

Hermione clutched her wand in her hand, and glared fixedly at the door ahead of her. Her quick steps the only noise that rang through the long hall.

She threw her hair over her shoulder and didn't bother to slow down as she neared the dark wooden door. She grabbed a hold of the brass knob, and wrenched it open, bursting through the door and into the dimly lit room, halting a few steps inside.

Her eyes alighted on the source of her current foul mood. She set her gaze on Malfoy, and watched the stoic man as he stood slowly from his seat, and faced her fully. He seemed unmoved by her sudden arrival, but his eyes were full of the familiar hatred that she had become accustomed to.

She glanced to her right, sensing the motion that was just outside of her view.

Her gaze met with the perturbed stare of Blaise Zabini.

She sneered at him, but noticed that he was standing still, frozen under her gaze, her wand pointed threateningly in his direction.

She took in the non-aggressive stance of his body and factored him in as being next to no threat. Malfoy was under vow to makes sure that nothing happened to her, so Zabini wouldn't dare make a move.

Or so she hoped.

She turned her attention back to the person that was the bane of her existence. She wielded her wand in his direction and took slow, measured steps towards him – his eyes transfixed on her.

There was an unfathomable expression on his face, and she became blind to the rest of the world, as she approached him. Her previously cautious attitude when dealing with him was all but gone, and she only had one thing on her mind.

Their eyes were locked and nobody in the room seemed willing to move as she stood at the end of his desk opposite him, her wand pointed squarely at his chest.

She exhaled through her nose once, before she dared to say anything. "Why didn't you wake me?"

He didn't move. Didn't acknowledge the fact that she had said anything at all. He seemed dead to the world as he simply stood there, his hands hanging at his sides, his back straight and regal.

But his eyes – his eyes held all of the threats that she knew he wanted desperately to exact.

She was growing impatient. She knew that he understood her meaning. The fiery look in his eyes told her that he understood all too well.

She heard a slight rustling from behind her and without looking away from Malfoy's implacable gaze, said, "Don't move, Zabini."

The noise immediately ceased, and she was left to focus on the immovable man before her.

She pursed her lips, pulling them into a thin line. "Answer me, Malfoy."

His expression was deadly serious, and he began to walk around the table to her, never breaking her gaze. His steps were slow and deliberate, but she knew that he was planning something.

Draco Malfoy was a man of design after all.

"I'll hex you," she threatened. "You know I will." Her voice was strong – full of anger.

But he acted as though he hadn't heard her at all. Wasn't moved by her threat in the least.

She frowned at him, but couldn't decide what to do until he made a move, but she often found that by then it was too late to do anything.

He stopped before her, his hands still hanging by his sides, with her wand resting at the center of his chest.

"You left me to sleep for over two days," she ground out, as though he needed to be told.

He cocked his head at her, that unfathomable mask still in place. "You're upset because I let you sleep through your exhaustion?" he asked quietly, his voice oddly devoid of emotion.

She could feel her lip twitch. No, that wasn't the full truth of it. But she couldn't formulate the words that would lay the blame at his feet for his latest despicable act. She took a deep breath and began to take measured steps away from him, her wand still aimed true.

There was a slight pause, before he followed her retreating footsteps. Matching her step for step, as though it were a well rehearsed dance.

She could handle him as long as she was given maneuvering room – but once he got too close, she would inevitably fall prey to his superior size and strength.

"I can't afford to simply sleep for days on end," she said menacingly. "You know very well."

Yes, he knew that she had things to attend to. Realized that she was instrumental to the Order. He knew this – and much more.

She glared at him once more as he stopped his advance, and putting a few more strides between them, she too, stopped.

Malfoy watched her, and shrugged slowly. "As you can see, the world has not come to a stop because you disappeared for a few days." He gestured around him slowly.

She choked down a laugh, and shook her head. He really was an insufferable person.

"And Harry _bleeding_ Potter has already sent half a dozen owls here inquiring about you, _darling_."

She snarled at him. "Don't," she said simply.

He finally seemed amused by that. "What?" he asked innocently. "I told the fool that you were perfectly fine – but that I was keeping you in a dungeon, and that you weren't going to be able to come out to play for quite some time."

She did laugh then – at the absurdity of the situation. It seemed not too long ago that she really had been kept below Malfoy Manor, after being tortured by his aunt and left to rot. Harry was sure to pick up on the insinuation.

"What did you do to Garvin?" she asked suddenly, and watched as a small spark flew through his eyes.

She pursed her lips. The excitement she felt when she woke up as she spied her picture displayed on her nightstand, was quickly washed away by the horror of seeing Garvin lingering a few paces from her bed. Twisting his hands in anxiety and trembling.

His body was bruised and battered – hardly a spot unblemished, and she was rendered speechless upon seeing him.

He was fidgeting and seemed tense, as though he expected to be beaten again. Seemed even more distrustful of her, and she feared what Malfoy had done to him – especially when she learned that she had been asleep for more than two days – and that he had been missing the entirety of that time.

The physical wounds were nothing compared to the psychological damage – she was certain of that.

It was her fault, of course – and that knowledge only infuriated her further.

Malfoy watched the almost pained expression on her face and felt his lips pull up into a shadow of a smile. She was so easily torn down. And that was her problem – she cared too much. She constantly left herself open for attack, and he was only too willing to oblige.

"I don't take disobedience well, Granger. You'll do well to remember that in the future," he said, quietly.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Was he insinuating that to mean her, or Garvin?

She could only assume both, and that simple statement only added more fuel to the fire.

"You're contemptible," she spat out.

"Well, now that you've gotten that off of your chest," his voice rumbled through the distance to her.

He began to pursue her once more, and she leveled her wand at his throat this time. She began to back up again, but found that he was advancing much too quickly.

Her lips were formed to shout a curse and he saw the intent in her expression. He lunged for her and grabbed a hold of her wrist.

The spell exploded with their combined strength, and was redirected – toppling a bookcase opposite them. She felt the traces of the spell tingle in her fingertips, and she exhaled slowly.

Their eyes met, and neither said a word. He twisted her wrist at an awkward angle, and she felt her wand drop of its own accord from her hand.

It would always be her hesitation that would destroy her. It was her unwillingness to use her magic to cause harm that would be her undoing.

She smiled suddenly. "I don't think that's very polite, do you?"

She tried wrenching her arm from him, but found that his grip was unyielding. She brought her free hand back to strike at him, but she faltered at the look on his face.

He smirked as she hesitated again, and twisted her wrist around her back, dragging her unwilling body to his.

She clenched her teeth at the tingling feeling that had settled in her shoulder and she rose up on the tips of her toes so that she could relieve the pressure. She wasn't in pain – he wasn't able to do that, but it certainly wasn't the most pleasant of sensations.

And that was exactly how he had intended it.

She looked up into his eyes, forced closer to him as she stood on her toes, and could hear movement behind her once more, but didn't dare look away from Malfoy's dark, brutal gaze.

His breath beat down gently over her face, and she took deep, calming breaths through her nose.

But he could see the discomfort that she was in – and he reveled in it.

"I think that's quite enough," a slow drawl came from directly behind Hermione.

She felt herself stiffen in Draco's grasp, and her heart seemed to stop for a moment, before beating violently in her ribcage once more.

Malfoy watched as the color drained from her face and the startled expression on her face gave way to something pained and indescribable. He narrowed his eyes at her, but her gaze no longer seemed focused, even though he still held her stare.

Hermione jerked away from Malfoy and only struggled with him for a moment, when he let her go. She spun around quickly, her lips formed to ask a question. Her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

Hermione clenched her fists, and felt herself take a step backwards, only to jerk from finding her back flush against Malfoy.

She continued to meet the impenetrable gaze of Theodore Nott, and felt the emotions and fears rise to the surface. She knew she was doing a poor job at hiding her shock at finding him there so suddenly, but she couldn't seem to wrap her mind around seeing him again after what had felt like so much time.

It seemed to Hermione, like it was a lifetime ago.

She exhaled heavily and tried to gather her thoughts, aware once more of Malfoy's steady presence behind her, and the bewildered look on Zabini's face, just over Nott's shoulder.

But they were mere annoyances, only a buzzing in the back of her head, as she locked gazes with Theodore Nott.

Theodore seemed like a formidable figure, standing even taller than Blaise, and dwarfing her in size. She knew his stance all too well, knew what his guarded expression tried to hide. And she feared it – felt the terror run through her and it threatened to leave her shattered.

She finally found her voice after a few tense moments, and said, "Theodore Nott, I hadn't expected to see you here." Her voice was oddly formal, not at all the same tone that she had used to greet Blaise Zabini with.

He inclined his head after a moment. "Hermione Granger," he lingered, "it's a pleasure to see you again."

Everyone seemed to hold their breath at that.

She pursed her lips, and her eyes lingered on the man assessing her critically.

"I have to go," she said at once.

She turned to face Malfoy, and avoiding his gaze, she leaned over to grab her wand mechanically.

She was mildly surprised to find that he didn't move, but could feel his eyes on her – searching out her gaze. Heavy and demanding, but she refused him.

She turned slightly, before remembering something. "Your fireplaces aren't open to the floo network – and I can't seem to apparate out of here." She left the question unsaid, and tensed, waiting for him to deny her.

He was silent. Watching her face as she avoided his gaze, he felt his mood darken.

He glanced over at Theodore, and noticed the guarded, intent look upon his face as he too, watched Hermione.

He frowned, deciding that having her leave wasn't such a bad idea. "You have to go out on the grounds, past the gates, before you will be allowed to apparate."

She didn't acknowledge him as she turned and walked, almost stiffly away from him – her shoulders hunched and her gaze trained straight ahead of her. She took the long way around, avoiding the two men in the center of the room, forming an arc away from Nott and Zabini.

"Be certain that you are back before midnight, Granger," he called out.

She looked at him, resentment burning through her.

He merely raised an eyebrow. He knew she didn't need reminding of the hold he had over her. "I'll find you," he threatened quietly.

Her gaze flickered down to his wrist with the exposed mark. She glared at him, then averted her gaze, knowing that he would make good on his threat.

She closed the door softly behind her, and had to force herself to keep calm as she hurried along the corridor – pushing down her body's instinct to run. But she couldn't stop herself from glancing back at the formidable door that she had escaped through, wary of what lay behind it.

The men in the room remained silent for a long moment, each replaying the events in their minds.

Draco watched Theodore, who was staring vaguely at the chair to his right. His eyes narrowed somewhat. Suspicious.

Balise finally walked forward, clapping a hand on Theodore's shoulder as he passed. He dropped down into one of the plush chairs and sighed heavily.

"What in the bloody hell was all that about?" he laughed, throwing his feet up on a small table in front of him. He smirked up at Malfoy who was still watching Theodore closely.

Neither had yet to say anything, and the atmosphere seemed tense. Blaise, however, seemed oblivious to it.

He looked over his shoulder at Theodore, and smiled. "Don't recall the Mudblood ever being so quiet," he started. "She clammed up the moment she saw you were here."

Draco was wondering what calculated response his friend would have, and watched silently, looking for a trace of emotion that would betray him.

Theodore walked forward as well, and slowly lowered himself into the chair next to Blaise.

"I'd imagine I'm the last person she'd want to see," he supplied, crossing his legs casually and finally meeting Malfoy's gaze.

Draco watched him with guarded eyes. He had never seen Granger react the way she had just then. Even at the battle at Hogwarts, finding herself face to face with Voldemort hadn't made her flinch.

She reveled in a challenge – he knew that. And as far as he knew, _he_ was the only one that was able to make her lose her composure – but he was swiftly finding himself ineffectual. She smiled at him and his attempts at cowing her – but Theo – he saw the immediate reaction that seeing his old friend brought to her.

And Theo had hardly said anything – hadn't made any hostile movements towards her. But the look of panic that had possessed her was appalling.

Blaise laughed. "Think she's still terrified after that raid she had set up went bad last year? You were the one to wound her, weren't you?"

Theo nodded his head solemnly.

Blaise spun on Draco. "Exactly how much money is your father giving you after you marry that wench?"

Malfoy finally regarded Zabini. "All of it," he answered calmly. He returned to his seat on the other side of his desk and frowned.

"Well, I suppose you didn't have much of a choice," Blaise sighed and rubbed at his face, grinning smugly.

"Couldn't believe the way that she came whipping in here," Blaise laughed, slapping his knee. "She looked positively murderous, mate."

Malfoy could hardly find the humor in what he said, but smirked nonetheless. He was still furious that she had come at him like that, but he'd deal with that later.

"And she didn't even see you over by the bookshelf," Blaise said to Theo offhandedly.

Theo smiled slightly at that. His fingers were drumming lightly against his raised knee. He seemed preoccupied – lost in his own thoughts.

"Did you see the article in the _Daily Prophet_?" Blaise asked suddenly, leaning forward in his seat.

Malfoy scowled at the reminder. "Of course."

"What was with all that, 'unity and strength' drivel?" Blaise scoffed.

Malfoy laughed scornfully. "It seems as though Granger has Rita Skeeter in her pocket, but I can't imagine what type of leverage she has on the woman."

Yes, he was bitter about that. He had planned on devastating Granger's world when she read the article in the paper, riddled with his comments about Weasley and Krum. He was bitterly disappointed to find that it was empty of his biting comments the previous morning.

He sighed, and the men continued with their previous conversation from before they were interrupted. But Malfoy kept casting Theodore suspicious looks, and the other man, for his part, avoided them to the best of his ability.

**XXX**

She stopped to catch her breath at the edge of Malfoy Manor grounds, and peered over her shoulder. She noticed that the enormous building looked just as big and foreboding from afar as it had up close and she propelled herself farther away from it, the gates just ahead of her.

There was a sense of urgency coursing through her and she took comfort in the ache of her lungs, the crunch of the wet grass below her feet.

Time. It was something that governed them all, and she felt as though it was slipping away from her. Falling through the cracks and crevices that was her life.

She glanced over her shoulder once more before reaching the apparition point.

She had planning to do, plotting to partake in.

Her mission was suddenly much more complicated – much more dangerous. There were lives hanging in the balance. Every word spoken – every word left unspoken, mattered now.

She could afford no missteps – no miscalculations. It was much more than her life and freedom that was at stake. So much more.

It was her responsibility to finish this. She was the only one that was capable of seeing it through, and that meant the difference between life and death for everyone.

* * *

I don't know, but I really like this chapter - it may be my new favorite.

Thanks to Darkness' Embrace, EvilWins, Haeli Elizabeth, SoulessxWarrior, BloodJewel, cullen's pet, FlowerChild67, happyface925, xoxo-cj, xo-sweets44ox, J.M. Brooks, jaceni, lilahcharlotte, straightlyconfused, and SilverPearl24 for the reviews and interest in the story. Your comments make my day.

I appreciate the support for this story, but I figure that I need to give you guys a heads up. I've got the next chapter in the works, so it'll hopefully be up within a week. But after that, **I'll be taking a break from writing**. I've been too consumed in this story, and I really need to get back to focusing on other things. Like reading -- and playing my long neglected guitar. So I've vowed to put off writing for a month, and as long as that seems, I think it'll pass in no time, So once again, thanks for the support and I'm sure you guys will understand.

**And as always, feedback and criticism is adored! **


	9. Her Majesty of Horror

I won't try to make excuses for my extended absence, but I am sorry to keep you waiting. This chapter is a bit longer than normal, to compensate for the time that it's taken me to get it up.

My beta is M.I.A. right now, and I sincerely hope that she is doing well. But that also means that this chapter is only edited by myself. So mistakes are bound to happen, so let me know where they are, if you will, so that I can take care of them. :)

Just a quick recap of what's going on (because it's been a while): Draco and Hermione are engaged to be married, and have undergone the Unbreakable Vow, to ensure certain things. Draco made her pledge her allegiance to the Malfoy family once they're married, under the Vow. She's living with him at the manor now, and last chapter, Theodore Nott entered the scene. **We left off with Hermione apparating away from Malfoy manor, after having been asleep for two days straight.**

Now, on to the show.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

**Simply Neurotic**

**Her Majesty of Horror**

Things were unusually calm. The sky was painted a faint oceanic blue, as the sun sunk below the horizon, and the world seemed to be coaxing along on auto pilot.

Silent, and eerie.

There was no wind to rustle the leaves the lined the streets below, and there were no clouds in the sky – no birds in the air.

Rita Skeeter pursed her lips, and crossed her arms over her chest.

She could feel something brewing. She knew there was something at work, in the early evening, but she didn't know what.

And _that_, was what bothered her.

She craved being on the inside. She desired information – news. She was a master of her craft, and knew how to carve words and images into marketable, engrossing stories. Front page material.

So she was perturbed, as she sat at her desk at the Daily Prophet, looking out her window. It had been two days since she had met Hermione at the Leaky Cauldron. Two days since she had devised the story about her and Draco Malfoy. And it had been two days since the younger witch had apparated to Rita's office after their meeting, and forbade her to run the intended article.

They had argued – she had threatened – and Hermione had overpowered her. Just like always.

She was insistent on that whole _strength and unity_ garbage. So that was what was published, as Rita was forced to throw away her headline grabbing story about a love triangle, and the impassioned affair she had imagined Hermione and Draco having.

But now it was Friday. And Friday was _the_ day. Like clockwork, Hermione would arrive in her office at four p.m., and dictate an article to her. A sort of inspirational piece that reassured the public that everything was going swimmingly, and that there was no reason to fear.

An update status.

A morale booster.

And the only times when Hermione didn't show, where the times when Rita knew to look to the skies, and search out the answer in the form of dark shapes and shifting clouds.

She glared at the enchanted clock on the wall opposite her, as it mechanically chimed six p.m.

Her icy blue eyes, glanced apprehensively to the darkening skies outside.

It was never a good sign – her absence. But for some reason, she feared it this time even more. Something was brewing, she could feel it.

**XXX**

Her mother had once said, that a person can only take so much before they break. Can only be pushed to the edge so many times, before they come to welcome the fall.

She had yet to decide if _this _was that moment for her.

Hermione gasped out, her breaths tearing painfully through her chest. Her feet pounded against the pavement of the street, echoing loudly in the still night.

The tears had dried on her face, but her eyes were still red and angry. Her mind confused and tortured.

The small town offered no direction for her, and she began to wonder if she were running in circles. The frustration and desperation was welling up inside of her as each building and street name looked the same as the previous one.

No sound reached her except for the rumble of the force that was closing in on her, and the unsteady beat of her heart, struggling to maintain control in her chest.

Her thoughts were disjointed and clouded, leaving her to react on instinct rather than intellect. Something she was woefully unfamiliar with.

And it was as though the world had gone silent. The wind was dead and the stars were muted – hiding from the threat that pursued her. The carriers of destruction.

Her lungs burned and she felt the expectant silence of the night. Watching her – knowing as she did, that she had lost. There was nothing left for her. Nowhere to go, and no one left to fight for.

She paused long enough to glance over her shoulder, but knew instantly that it was a mistake. The face of death was fast approaching.

She felt the heat of the spell as it flew passed her, understood the hate and determination that fueled it.

She watched as the red light collided violently with the corner of the building she had been approaching, and it shattered as though it were merely papier-mâché. Not changing her pace, she blindly leapt over the rubble and ruin of the wall, stumbling unsteadily as she landed clear of it on the other side.

She didn't know where she was going – only that she needed to put some distance between herself and the league of Death Eaters behind her.

It seemed as though more were joining in the chase, and it would only be a matter of time before she was completely and utterly without hope.

The distant howling of the forlorn creature from earlier was shockingly close now – ringing through her, and urging her to push forward.

She cast a quick look up towards the dark sky that couldn't conceal the black streak that ran across it, high above her head. The moon was hidden behind some clouds, subdued, yet powerful enough to shine beyond its confinement.

But it wasn't a full moon, and that thought alone gave her some amount of comfort. Some amount of calm amidst the raging emotions.

Her eyes darted forward and locked on her new destination. The dense forest ahead of her was foreboding and seemed to urge her away – but it was the lesser of two evils, and her only chance.

A shattering howl rang through her once more, and she felt as though there were a darkness closing in on her. She could feel it in her soul, could feel it reaching inside of her, tearing at her.

And oh! How easy it would have been to give in. To lay in bed with it and allow it to take her under. How soothing it would be before it claimed her forever, taking her below – deep below.

No more fighting . . . no more running . . . no more living.

She violently shook her head of the indulgent thoughts and allowed the burning in her throat, and the pain in her legs to remind her of what it was to fight. What it was to persevere. _What it was to live._

For a life of pain and suffering was better than an unalterable non-existence.

She wouldn't allow it to have her. She'd fight to her last breath. _She owed them that much._

The crunch of the grass under her feet was appallingly loud as she broke free of the confines of the small town, and entered into the meadow that was the last barrier between her and some sort of protection.

There was a distant roar that was building all around her, breaking the silence of the night, and she pushed on harder. She wondered briefly how the night was going to end, and where it would find her. But the idea of contemplating anything beyond _this _moment was absurd.

The streak that had flown distantly over her moments ago, was joined by more of its kind, and was forming an arc over her – twisting and turning into one another, converging into a blanket of darkness and terror, blocking out the sky and the captive moon.

The roar of power was no longer ignorable, and she jolted as spells flew passed her, narrowly missing. Their intensity and frequency brought her out of her reverie. She needed to stay focused. She needed to stay alive.

The meadow offered no protection from their onslaught, but all she could do was hope to make it to the forest before one of their attempts were successful.

She urged her body on further, but didn't have the time to feel relieved as she flew passed the first trees of the woods.

The roar was upon her, and the dark shapes in the sky descended upon the forest ahead of her with a fierce, destructive power. The ground shook and dirt and debris flew through the air at the impact, making the trees sway and tremble from the force of it.

She could feel the heat of the explosion wash over her, whipping her hair into her face, and scorching the forest that surrounded the impact – leaving it charred and ruined.

With a quick twist of her body, she changed directions, and darted through the forest laterally, running along the edge of its shelter, still in plain sight of her attackers from the city.

Her heart skipped a beat as a shrill laugh pierced the night, transcending the commotion of the newly arrived Death Eaters. And she understood exactly what it meant. They were here, and desperate to have her. So desperate in fact, that they'd send Bellatrix Lestrange into the fray.

And if _she _was here, who else was amongst the hordes of deathly monsters? Was _he _here?

Would the Dark Lord himself risk the exposure by entering into the chase?

Her legs protested under her as she pushed forward, dodging and jolting between trees, their limbs reaching out and tearing at her in the process. But she wasn't concerned with that, there was much more hanging in the balance than the pain of a few scratches.

There was a pain of a different caliber awaiting her if she couldn't manage to escape. A pain that required time, and patience. Tearing and pulling, carving and burning.

The hair on the back of her neck rose on end, commanding her attention, and she jerked her head to the right. Looking out across the meadow, she heard the low howl of a creature, subconsciously knowing exactly what it was.

Sprinting through the meadow towards her was the terrifying form of Fenrir Greyback, his yellow eyes locked on hers, his lips peeled back in a fierce snarl. His expression was one of determination and unbridled ferocity.

Without second thought, she darted back in towards the forest, running deeper and deeper into the depths and denseness of the trees.

She ran with a new urgency, now. To her mind, there were few fates worse than falling into the hands of the malicious werewolf. Full moon or not, he enjoyed feasting on human flesh. Savored the taste of blood and fear. He was a more than willing participant in Voldemort's bloody crusade.

There were no illusions now, they meant to take her, at any means necessary.

And the idea that his Dark Lord had let him loose on this night, showed her exactly the depths he was willing to go to, to have her under his control. He would spare no resources to have her.

She felt a change in the air – it was as though she had crossed a boundary she didn't know existed, and the forest seemed to be humming with life. But there was no time to hesitate or to contemplate the shift. She had little time for anything beyond breathing and moving faster.

She glanced over her shoulder, as she heard an explosion not far behind. The red sparks dancing in the dark night sky showed her exactly how close they were to claiming her.

They were converging on her from all sides, and she knew it was only a matter of time before they fell upon her.

She pushed harder. And harder.

Her only thoughts were those of regret – how she hadn't been strong enough, hadn't been smart enough. It was her fault, and everyone she loved was likely dead.

But the worst part was not knowing. Not being able to know for certain how everyone was. _Where _everyone was.

She cried out in frustration through her gasps for air.

Apparation was impossible in the city, they had put wards up against it – but that type of magic could only reach so far. She had to keep going – keep pushing until their magic could reach no further.

The forest was becoming denser and darker, and the trees seemed to sense her urgency. Seemed to know that her escape into their depths was her only chance at survival. They appeared to sway and move out of her way, before closing behind her – forming a blockade.

She picked up her pace once more as she heard the distant explosions of the Death Eaters pursuing her. They seemed to be falling farther behind, and their frustration was palpable.

She allowed a small seed of hope to be planted in her chest. But she should have known better.

Her foot caught in a twisted root of an ancient tree and she fell awkwardly onto the moss covered ground. She tried to catch her breath, and listened unsteadily to the disruptions that rippled through the night's air.

She twisted her foot angrily and felt the fear rise as she found herself stuck. The tree seemed unwilling to release her, and she glared at the thick, powerful roots that seemed to pulse with life and hidden energy. She gripped her wand, ready to use whatever means necessary to _make _the tree let her go, when a noise sounded off in the distance to the right.

A twig cracking, and a scratching sound against the bark of a tree.

Her head snapped up suddenly, and she held her breath. There was something out there. Something powerful.

It pulsed with a different sort of energy, disrupting the flow of the forest. Tainting it with its insidious thoughts.

Her foot suddenly sprang free, and she stood unsteadily, casting anxious looks around the area, and gripping her wand tightly. She narrowed her eyes into the darkness that surrounded her, and she quickly backed away from the small clearing just ahead.

There was something warning her away from it.

The hairs on the back of her neck bristled, and she crouched behind the ancient tree that she had tripped over, covering her mouth with one hand to subdue her suddenly erratic breathing.

There was a rustle of leaves, suddenly, as the wind ran through the area, and the heaving form of Fenrir Greyback came bursting through the trees opposite her.

Exactly where she might have been if she hadn't fallen.

His breath was coming out in quick, labored, heaves and his eyes were narrowed as he surveyed the area. He threw back his head and began smelling the air around him, his fingers twitching in anticipation, and the excitement rippling through him.

She held her breath as another soft breeze blew through the forest, causing the werewolf to tense and smile hideously.

Hermione tensed as well, and gripped the tree that she was behind, preparing herself for the attack that was sure to follow. The leaves offered her little protection from being seen, but she couldn't look away. Her eyes were glued to the beast in front of her, and she frowned when his head whipped in the opposite direction, his body quick to follow the scent that he seemed to have picked up.

She stood, silent and unsure for a few moments, wondering if he was perhaps playing with her. She knew it was a definite possibility.

She had heard the stories. She knew how much he enjoyed the game. How much he reveled in playing with his food, before tearing them apart. He didn't need a full moon to devastate lives. She knew that all too well.

So she paused, as she took a step from behind the tree, and listened. She calculated the odds that he was lurking not far, waiting for her to start running again.

But either way, she really didn't have any more options.

There was a force approaching, its magic undeniable, and she knew that she had little time to decide.

Concentrating on a location, she stilled her breathing, and tried desperately to apparate.

The attempt only added to her frustration as she realized that she still couldn't leave the area.

She needed to keep going.

Pursing her lips, she took a few tentative steps into the small clearing ahead of her, glancing around apprehensively.

Her slow, small steps began to quicken their pace, and soon she was throwing her body forward once more, trying to widen the gap between herself and those that wanted nothing more than to destroy her.

She had no direction, but knew she needed to get out of range of the wards on the town before she stood a chance of escaping.

She barreled through the trees, allowing the forest to guide her into its depths. And she focused instead on the sound of the forest, allowed her mind to hone in on the subtle tone and fluency of it.

Her mind calmed, her emotions in check. Her thoughts became clear and decisive, and she knew that she had to make it out of this alive. Needed to get word to someone. _Anyone_.

She could hear it now, the whispers and murmuring of the ancient trees. It seemed to be carried to her on the wind that was sweeping through the trees. It was in a language she didn't know, but understood nonetheless.

It was fighting for her. Fighting _with _her.

And the fact that she was no longer alone, comforted her beyond reason.

So when the soft whispers stopped suddenly, so did she.

The log came out of nowhere, and hit her squarely in the chest.

Her back collided painfully with the truck of a tree, and it groaned underneath her.

She crashed down onto her hands and knees grasping her midsection. The log had knocked the breath out of her completely, and she gasped painfully to fill her aching lungs.

She could hear something scratching the bark of a tree, repeatedly, gouging out chunks of the brittle surface.

Her eyes focused on the moss covered floor, and the blood began to pool in front of her. The wound on the back of her head bled profusely as she struggled to maintain consciousness.

The world seemed to sway in front of her, and suddenly, she felt weightless.

The crazed yellow irises of his eyes locked on her face, traveling the path that the blood had born on her neck and shoulders, as he held her at arm's length.

Fenrir seemed to vibrate, as he held the front of her blouse in his clawed hand.

She gaped up at him, finally sucking in a mouthful of air, but finding it stale and putrid. The werewolf exhaled heavily into her face, and she wanted to gag at the mixture of rotten meat and stale earth that he projected onto her.

He looked her over hastily, and jerked her towards him, sniffing her hair and neck loudly.

There was a loud explosion that sounded off not far from them, and they both seemed to sense what it meant.

He snarled into her face suddenly, and lowered his mouth to her neck slowly, dramatically.

She tensed, coming to her senses, and jerked away from him violently. She aimed a kick for his groin, but earned a sickening slap across her face instead.

He shoved her away from him, and she stumbled to the ground awkwardly. Her hand flew up to her face to touch the newly inflicted wound. Her fingers came away from her cheek, horrified at the amount of blood that was there.

She jerked her gaze back up to Fenrir, and felt her stomach turn as he licked the blood from his clawed hand. His expression did nothing to hide the pleasure that he took from the action, his eyes rolling into the back of his head and his body tensing and vibrating all at once.

He laughed at the expression on her face, a portrait of terror and disgust.

"Fresh meat," he began briskly, "always satisfies."

She jerked at those words and began to clamber backwards on her elbows, but he simply laughed, a low howl that tore through her and he jumped through the air to land crouched over her.

She couldn't even attempt to feign bravery, as he brought a giant hand down upon her neck, and lip quivering, he trailed it down to her chest, cupping her breast roughly, growling in the back of his throat.

She thrashed under him with all her might, fearing what he had in store for her – because it was far worse than what she had assumed before.

A vicious backhand to her face sent her head crashing back down upon the heavy roots that lined the forest floor.

Her vision blacked out for a moment, and she saw Theodore Nott, standing before her in the darkest pit of her subconscious. A place she refused to go. Harry was laying there in the foreground, covered in blood and staring blankly at her. Her vision was covered in a pulse of blinding light, as she fought against the images her mind was tearing up from the recesses and exposing. Her deepest fears, her most private desires: her darkest thoughts.

The canopy of leaves was visible above her now, and she struggled against the sinking sensation that was tearing through her, threatening to drown her.

Fenrir brought his head down to her throat and she jerked and struggled to regain control of her body. His tongue darted out of his mouth and followed her neck the length of her collarbone to her ear, feeling like sandpaper against her skin.

He growled into her ear, low and dangerous. His head buried into her hair once more, and he inhaled heavily along her neck, his path leading lower.

Her head lolled back and forth and black dots danced across her vision as she struggled to regain full consciousness, but feeling the persistent pressure of something pressing against her abdomen, she lurched forward.

Fenrir inhaled deeply as his head rested at the apex of her thighs, and she struck out at him with blind fury.

He didn't seem to be bothered by her, and his hands, soiled with her blood, began to tear and snatch at her clothing violently, no longer able to hold back his beastly desires.

She punched and kicked at him desperately, until it became clear that he would be undeterred. Screaming in fury one last time, she struck out at him, aiming for his eyes.

He seemed mildly dazed by it, and turned his crazed gaze upon her suddenly.

He brought his fist back swiftly, his fingers extended, and his claws pointed towards her throat. His nostrils flared, and he smiled animalistically at her, his fangs bared and gleaming.

She met his wild, unfocused gaze and allowed herself to smile in that instant. Time was suspended, and all that remained was her broken, battered body, and the demented beast that was focused solely on her.

His gaze widened for a moment, his expression a mixture of confusion and anger, before he was whisked off of her entirely, and drug by an unseen force into the darkness of the forest.

She stared blankly at the spot that he had disappeared through, and her mind was especially sluggish, suspended in disbelief.

The movement that surrounded her, caught her attention at last, and she looked up to the trees above her which swayed and rustled and shuddered, almost violently.

In the distance, she could hear the howls and incoherent rants of Fenrir, but she could also hear the approaching Death Eaters, not far from her now.

She staggered over to her wand that lay on a pile of fallen leaves, and gripped it unsteadily in her hand.

Turning to the largest tree beside her she pressed her hands together and leaned over slightly. "Thank you," she whispered.

Concentrating with all her effort, she would not be denied her escape.

And with a violently powerful _crack _she apparated away from the forest that had saved her, and the forces that had sought to destroy her.

**XXX**

Landing on the soft grass of the lake's bank she knew she'd be safe.

She had apparated half a dozen times, before finally deciding that she was out of their reach. She doubted they were able to trace her beyond her first couple of jumps.

Her shoulders sagged forward, and she lurched towards the ground. Stumbling, she caught herself. But she knew she wouldn't last long. Her vision was swimming in front of her, and her head throbbed massively.

There was a rustle of leaves not far from her, and she managed to glare weakly at the dark figure that emerged from behind the tree, before she recognized him.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, unbelieving.

Her eyes focused for a moment and she wanted to sob out, but as it were, all she could get out was, "I thought you were de–."

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she was unconscious before her body hit the ground.

And for once, sweet, merciful darkness was the only thing that awaited her on the other side.

**XXX**

"What?" Her voice was breathless, and torn.

Harry simply watched her, sympathy etched into his features.

"I'm sorry 'Mione, but the decision has been made already. We can't take any risks with this. We've already lost too many people."

"Yes, I understand that, but that's why you need me. I'm away for two days and look at the state of things." She threw her arms up in the air, desperate to make him understand.

Harry pursed his lips and crossed his arms over his chest. He had known she wasn't going to be happy about the decision, but he knew she could see the reason behind it. The _need _for it.

He had awoken her, hoping for some sort of explanation as to why she had shown up by the lake, bloodied and hardly coherent, but he hadn't expected the words that spilled from her lips.

News that Fenrir Greyback was prowling around his home, accompanied by the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange, was an unsettling revelation. Another blow.

Hermione had insisted they head back to the headquarters, and organize an attack, so he was burdened with informing her of the Order's decision.

They had been betrayed by someone in their ranks. Sold out to the Death Eaters, and every precaution was being taken to ensure that the remaining members were kept safe.

Hermione's mission involving Malfoy, now became the factor that lead to her expulsion from the Order's raids. More importantly, it meant that she _could not _be allowed to know anything about the Order, outside of what she needed to finish her mission.

He took a deep, tense breath. "You know the Order doesn't blame you for what's happened, Hermione. You've done more for this cause than anyone."

His eyes pleaded with her to understand, but he knew that she was hurt. He knew from the tense, almost hostile way that she stood, that she was furious with him.

Hermione glared harshly at her best friend, but she knew that she couldn't take her anger out on him. He didn't want this anymore than she did.

The expression on his face told her everything that she needed to know.

They had lost a lot of ground in the past two days. In the time she had spent, blissfully unaware at Malfoy's, the world seemed to be turned on its side, and the war had taken a drastic turn for the worst.

_Five_. It seems like such a small number. An inconsequential figure. Five seconds, five minutes, five hours.

_Five_.

But when it's used in connection with death – when it's used to describe the amount of lives that are lost, the people that will never see the light of another day – _five _suddenly seems a lot more substantial. _Five _suddenly takes on a new meaning.

And so she recounted the news of the people they had lost. The five people that she had worked in close connection with, and the people she had trusted with her life.

Their ghosts would haunt her, just like the rest of them. She would never forget. She wouldn't allow herself to.

Her mind focused on the newest bit of information she had received. She mashed her teeth together harshly. She understood _why _they had come to the decision they had, but that didn't make it any easier to swallow. It didn't sting any less, or give her _any_ sense of comfort.

She had panicked when she had apparated from the Malfoy manor to find herself unable to get into contact with anyone. The places she trusted had apparation wards up against them, and both the headquarters and the Burrow had Confundus Charms in place.

Everywhere she looked, things appeared to be normal, which only compounded her frustration.

Finally, she was able to apparate to the edge of the small town that Harry lived in. The ward was set up against apparating to his house, but not to the surrounding areas, she found.

Walking through the eerily calm streets, she was struck with an urgency to get to his home.

Finding the front door open, her reason and sanity were torn apart when she saw the state of his house – blooded and overturned.

And the Death Eaters were on her almost instantly.

She quickly found that the Death Eaters had set up charms preventing apparating out of the town, effectively trapping her within its confines.

Then the chase had begun.

Her mind was still trying to process everything. She walked along the edge of the lake, and looked down at the angry pink marks that marred her arms, wondering briefly, how the rest of her body looked. Harry had done his best, but magic could only heal so much.

But soon they would fade. Just like all the other ones.

She looked up to find Harry watching her, a patient look on his face. The circles under his eyes told her that he hadn't slept in some time.

She turned her eyes towards the ground, guilt flooding her. She understood why they were cutting her off from the Order.

She disappears for two days into the Malfoy manor, and during that time, the mission that she drew up and plotted out goes bad. Compromised.

But she also knew there were a lot of last minute changes to the plan to supplement her absence.

People were added to the mission, and details changed around.

So, as much as she hated the decision to cut her out of all future raids, she had to think about what was best for the rest of them. What was best for the cause.

But she was still repulsed by the thought that keeping _her _in the dark was the best solution. The missions had been what she lived for, for the past few years. They were what occupied her every waking hour. What provided her with _some _sense of usefulness.

So the resentment was there. The pain would never truly fade. She would be forced to pass information to the Order through Harry – or with Kingsley through the Ministry, if necessary.

Malfoy was to be her sole concern from now on. Her mission with him was of the utmost importance, and the information that she obtained through it, could turn the tide of the war.

She should have realized sooner though, that this was going to be the way things progressed. Doing this mission was going to require her full attention, and she should have realized that having her at the manor was a liability to the rest of the Order.

She knew entirely too much.

So, people were being moved as they spoke, and the headquarters was being relocated to somewhere more secluded – somewhere safe.

Harry had tried to reassure her that the changes weren't because of her, but because of the events of the last twenty-four hours. But she understood how her situation looked. She knew that there was suspicion. Understood that there was fear – even if they didn't want to voice it.

It was no secret that Malfoy was skilled in both Occlumency and Legimency.

It was only natural for them to at least consider that he had used his abilities to gain information from her.

But she knew better. She hadn't felt his presence as she slept. He hadn't been in her subconscious.

That was something that she knew to guard against – something that she had experienced before.

She paced along the edge of the lake's bank. Thoughtful.

"Who did you say was added to the mission after I went to Malfoy's?" she asked, before pausing.

Her breaths were coming in smooth, even drags and her red rimmed eyes were narrowed in thought.

She was done crying. There would be a time to grieve for the people that had been lost. The people who had sacrificed everything for the cause they all believed in. But there was nothing that could be done about them. She understood that she needed to focus on doing what she could, for the people that remained. For the ones that were still alive.

She was full of vengeance, yes. There was no denying that. But her determination and sheer will were going to be the things that brought her through. Her hatred for their common enemy was surpassed by her love for her friends and family. And that was something they could never take from her. Her compassion overruled her hatred.

But right now, it was her determination to solve the problem at hand, that kept her mind focused and her emotions in control.

"Oliver Wood, Ernie Macmillan, Anthony Goldstein, and Viktor," he reported mechanically. "Out of those four, we lost Wood at the battle, and Anthony wasn't able to fight off the curse placed on him, so he died earlier this evening."

She nodded her head slowly. "And Pavarti?" she asked quietly, avoiding Harry's sullen expression.

He swallowed thickly. "She was killed in her home last night, while we were attempting the raid. Same with Justin Finch-Fletchley and Hannah Abbott."

She clenched her jaw tightly. She could still hardly believe they were all gone.

Things just weren't adding up properly. There was someone amongst them that was working for the other side. That was obvious. But she wondered if it was someone doing it willfully, or under the Imperius curse. Because _that _could be routed out.

And she wondered who it would be – who would betray them. Until this moment, she had never doubted their bravery – their determination and devotion.

But now, that was tainted. And the suspicion was present. It was something that could threaten to tear them apart – if they allowed it to.

So her mind began to work through the list of people she knew. She began to pick them apart, piece by piece and her shrewd mind dissected their characters – their motivations.

She shook her head roughly.

She had no right to suspect anyone. _She _of all people had no right to look at others with an accusing gaze.

But she knew better. There were only so many people that knew the particulars of the mission. And even at that, the information was parceled out, so that only a limited few knew _everything_. The possibilities wound themselves around her, and she was lost for a moment in her thoughts.

There was movement out of the corner of her eye.

Her gaze was captured by the Patronus charm that floated towards them over the lake's smooth surface. It was in the form of a graceful feline, and Hermione immediately recognized it as McGonagall's.

Harry raised his wand, and the ethereal figure dove for the end of it, funneled into the wooden object with a resounding crack, and a flash of blinding white light.

Hermione brought up her arm to shield her eyes, and watched as Harry absorbed the message.

He seemed to come out of a daze, and his eyes focused on her face. "The Death Eaters are gone. The ward you said they put up preventing apparation out of the town appears to have been lifted."

She frowned. "And what about the ward preventing people from apparating to your home directly?"

"That was ours, but it's not necessary now. I'll be going to stay at the headquarters." His tone hinted at defeat, and she felt a pang of regret and guilt stab through her.

She grimaced. "I'll figure this out, Harry. I promise." She put a comforting hand on his arm, and he smiled weakly at her.

"But you aren't involved in it anymore, Hermione," he answered calmly.

She smiled at him ruefully. "You know that won't stop me." She wiped at her face suddenly, trying to erase the dried tears that had painted a path down her cheeks.

Harry sighed heavily, and Hermione felt the weight of his stare.

"I haven't even told you the best part yet," she alluded, before casting her forlorn gaze up to the star-studded sky.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh?" he asked, feigning excitement.

She smirked suddenly, and turned her gaze back to him. "Theodore Nott was at the manor today."

He jerked as though he had been slapped, and a silence encased them. Hermione watched the rapid progression of emotions flutter over his features. Anger and resentment, as well as a growing fear. She could only assume the last one was for her benefit.

He brought one hand up to his face, and rubbed roughly. "This can't go on," he bit out.

* * *

Man, and where is Draco on all of this? He'll be making his grand reappearance in the next chapter, I assure you.

Thank you all for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The next one won't be long, I promise, and if you ever want to know what's going on, I update my profile page pretty regularly with news about this story. Check it out.

Leave a comment, please. And constructive criticism is loved.

Jess


	10. Sweet, Sweet Murder

So, yes. Finally, here it is. I can only apologize for the lateness of this, but I can honestly say that chapter eleven is nearly finished right now, and that it certainly won't take me two months to post it. I want to thank everyone who has reviewed, alerted, and favorite'd this story – you're all my heroes. But there's one person in particular that I want to thank, and that is **Blue Wonderland**. This chapter is dedicated to her and her constant presence and motivation.

And since it has been such a long time since I've updated, it may be a good idea to go back and read the last chapter or two, because to be honest, otherwise, it could be confusing.

So this chapter has _not _been BETA read, yet. So if there are mistakes or inconsistencies, you have my sincerest apologies.

* * *

**Simply Neurotic**

**Chapter Ten**

**Sweet, Sweet Murder**

Harry knew that he should have expected it, but after returning from the lake where he had been with Hermione, he couldn't help but hope for a quiet end to his torturously long day. Some sleep, perhaps, before he had to detail his meeting with his best friend to anyone.

But of course, he should have known better.

"And I suppose you told Miss Granger about her status with the Order?" McGonagall asked sternly, disapproval written clearly on her face.

"Yes, of course I did. She's fully aware," Harry replied heavily. He rubbed his face with an open hand and sighed.

Minerva McGonagall narrowed her eyes and brought her hands in front of her, clasping them tightly in her lap. "_And_, Mr. Potter? How did she take this news?"

Harry pursed his lips. "As well as can be expected I suppose. She understands, but she's incredibly upset about it."

Saying that she was _upset_ was quite the understatement. Furious was perhaps the better word. He knew the desperation that she must feel in the face of her current situation. It really wasn't fair to her, and he could feel the weight of the guilt pulling him down.

McGonagall's eyes were hawkish and shrewd. Years of experience – years of dealing with Potter and his two loyal friends, told her how hard it must have been for him to deliver that particular bit of news.

But it had to be done. And better by him, than by her. It was no great secret that she and Hermione had butted heads _many_ times in the past.

No. Having her inform Hermione Granger of her suspension from the Order would not have gone on well.

"And what did she say?" McGonagall pressed.

Harry stood from his seat, too anxious and fidgety to sit still. Pacing along the edge of the table, he recalled their rather long conversation.

"She said she was fine on her own. Said she had it under control and would do her best to gain access to any pertinent information that Malfoy might have."

McGonagall made a noise of disapproval deep in her throat. "And she is aware, Mr. Potter, that she only has little more than one week to accomplish this, does she not?" Her voice was strained and biting. "Or has she found a way around _that_ particular problem in the clause of their Vow? Vowing allegiance to the very person she has sworn to spy on does not sound especially promising."

Harry frowned. No, Hermione hadn't even begun working on it, but he wasn't going to admit that to McGonagall.

But it made no difference. She seemed to pick up as much from his silence.

"Did you find anything on him? Malfoy, I mean." Harry asked suddenly.

McGonagall shook her head tersely. "No, it's just as you though it would be. Malfoy hadn't left his manor all evening – plenty of people coming, to be sure, but he never left the grounds. Lupin was on detail all evening, of course. He's still not entirely convinced of your . . . _theory,_ shall we say. He still thinks there is something rather peculiar going on."

McGonagall watched as the young man before her slumped into his chair once more, a grim determination had set in.

She shook her head and frowned. "Get some sleep, Mr. Potter. You're going to need your strength. Dark times are upon us."

"Yes, of course," he responded blandly.

McGonagall straightened herself, her tone turning back to business. "Very well then. I'm glad that you're back in one piece." She stood and made her way towards the door, pausing as she reached for the knob. "And might I suggest, that you check in with your friend, Mr. Weasley. He seems to have figured out something rather unsettling." She looked at Harry meaningfully. "He _knows_, Mr. Potter. He has figured out that it was you."

Harry looked at her, processing her cryptic words, before the meaning dawned on him. "How?" he asked, his voice hardly above a whisper.

McGonagall frowned. "How does anyone here find out things that are meant to be kept secret?"

And with that she unlatched the lock and opened the door, disarming the charms on it with a flick of her wrist. She turned to him one last time, his face betraying the multitude of thoughts running through his head.

"And I hope for your sake, that Miss Granger is able to gain Mr. Malfoy's trust rather quickly."

Harry nodded numbly. "She has it," he answered simply.

_And she did. She had it – until she lost it.

* * *

_

It wasn't revenge. No.

It wasn't that.

And it wasn't premeditated.

Certainly not.

But as she threw the bust of Lucius Malfoy through the glass bookcase, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at the destruction that lay before her.

Her breath was labored as she stalked around the large room, searching for something else to destroy, something else to help soothe the pain.

But there was nothing.

She had literally broken everything in her immediate proximity, including the fine china dinnerware and crystal glasses that they had apparently enjoyed their feast upon earlier that evening. No doubt laughing merrily and decrying her attempts to restore the world to its former glory, gorging themselves on enough food to feed one of the _many_ orphanages throughout the country.

_She had destroyed it all in her haze of unimpeded rage._

She clutched at her chest, her heart hammering wildly under her hand.

The feeling was still there though. The utter desolation and helplessness that had buried deep under her skin – close to her heart. It still clawed at her despite her attempts to assuage it with the destruction of the very thing she thought fueled it.

The tears started then in her desperation, and a strangled sob rent from her throat.

Casting about blindly, she found herself in front of a large framed painting of Draco.

Staring at it for a long moment, she drew back her clenched fist and aiming for his ghost of a smile, she shattered the glass. When one solid hit didn't inflict the amount of damage she sought, she hit it twice . . . thrice, until it lay in a twisted mass of paper and frame at her feet.

She heaved a shuddering breath and grabbed a hold of the small chair next to her – throwing it across the room, not even bothering to watch as it collided with an already abused bookcase.

Finding her way into the center of the room, the tears blinding her vision, she collapsed bonelessly onto the floor, bracing herself on her hands and knees.

She clutched the strewn papers on the floor in her hands, and sobbed openly into the silence of the room, listening as it echoed back to her, toneless and empty.

She was only allowed a few moments of pity though, because before long, the reality of what she had done descended upon her.

And the guilt was grabbing a hold, replacing her anger and only making the pain in her chest intensify.

It was as though a fog had been lifted, and she was finally able to see what she had done. Finally able to feel the pain in her hands, the burn of her throat, and the roar in her ears receding.

Her knees felt weak under her as she stood up, and she braced her hands on her thighs for support, glass crunching under her feet.

It was like some sort of beast had been unleashed from deep inside her, and she was ill prepared to contain it. And so now that the anger had subsided – she was both shocked and humbled by her outburst.

Another sob escaped her as she shook her head slowly, her mouth frozen in horror. "No," she moaned, covering her eyes with a trembling hand.

How foolish – how suicidal was she? And what of her mission? How could she possibly salvage this situation?

A soft noise sounded behind her. Hermione spun around, wiping the tears from her eyes and froze.

"Oh no, don't let me interrupt," Draco said calmly, raising his hands up in front of him. "As a matter of fact, I think you may have overlooked the unbroken windows in your fit of rage," he nodded his head over her left shoulder.

Hermione could do nothing but stare at him, her mouth trying to work, but failing her. The words just wouldn't come. Her mind reeled upon finding him there, seated casually behind his desk, his feet propped up on the surface of it. Blinking rapidly, she finally found her senses and her mind went into over-drive.

Turning her back on him suddenly, she began wiping at her eyes hastily, searching for the correct path to take. How could she possibly explain to him? How could she justify what she had done? She almost wished for his anger, would have preferred it to the silence – the void that she found herself in. It would have made it easier.

She was trembling, her hands were unsteady as she wiped at her eyes repeatedly, but a dry sob escaped her lips and drew with it more tears.

Her right arm dropped to her side and hung there limply, while she buried her face in the crook of her left one.

She took deep, steadying breaths to calm herself, but every time she tried to rid herself of the need to cry, a wave of images would ride over her, both new and old. The things of her nightmares of past, and to come. The people she had lost, the ones that would never see the world rid of Voldemort. _The ones she had failed._

It was uncharacteristic of her to not think something through. Arriving at the manor to find no sign of Draco had infuriated her, but she might have been able to swallow that, if it hadn't been for the state of his study when she walked in. Untouched by the realities of the last few hours, she sneered at the frivolousness and decadence of his work space. The glass bookcases, with the glass entombed ancient texts on pedestals, and the expensive art that adorned the walls.

Draco Malfoy was a fool. Untouched and unconcerned with the war at hand, he had the means to remain neutral in the whole ordeal, locked away safe and sound in his _grand _manor. But it was the food. The wasted, hardly touched, _perfectly edible_ food that was left to be thrown out that had done her in – especially when she had seen the state of his House Elves first hand. Could he not afford to allow them to share in his wealth? Did he think it necessary to allow them to wear rags and eat bread trimmings and vegetable shavings?

Her mind had screamed and revolted at the injustice of it. He knew nothing of the horrors of the war she waged. Nothing of the sacrifice so many had made.

Her breathing finally began to calm itself, and the tears had finally dried.

She listened.

And the only thing that met her was silence.

Her body tensed, and she tentatively allowed her arm to fall away from her face. Blinking rapidly, she still didn't dare turn around, not yet.

She closed her eyes, before she became aware of a wall of heat that beat down on her back, and a cool breath whispering across her neck.

That basic instinct to lash out at the invasion of her space was nearly overwhelming, but she stilled herself and slowly, cautiously, turned around, raising her hands as a gesture of good-will.

She found her right wrist quickly snatched up with his ungodly reflexes, and she look a reflexive step back, not expecting him to be quite so close.

She didn't have the fight in her. She didn't have the will. So she stared, defeated and ashamed, at his chest. Swallowing thickly, she waited in the tense silence for him to say something – anything.

But Malfoy didn't trust himself to say anything at the moment – he hardly trusted himself to be so near her, let alone say anything remotely non-threatening. So, while his mind tried to piece together the logic or reason behind her chaos, his eyes roamed over her, taking in the unusual marks on her exposed skin, and the mass of hair on top of her head, falling at an angle so that he couldn't see her properly.

Malfoy knew there was something wrong the moment he saw her desecrating his small personal library. Because if there was one thing he knew for certain about Hermione Granger, it was her incredible reverence of books.

She flinched, unabashedly, as he brought his free hand up. And if he noticed her unusual reaction, he made no mention of it as he reached forward and grasped her chin in his warm grip, tilting her head back to look at him.

His eyes slid over the marks on her face, down to the exposed skin on her chest and arms. The cuts she had gained from her battle through the forest were light for the most part, but they didn't escape Malfoy's notice. She hadn't left the manor in that condition, he was certain. And there on her left cheek was a series of long gouges, still red and somewhat swollen, as though she had been clawed by something.

Hermione felt exposed. She swallowed back the tears that were threatening to spring forward once more, and stared dejectedly into his face, allowing him to see the pain there. She had been hurt – damaged and thrown aside, and it was all there for him to see – for him to use against her.

Draco watched as her mind churned away, thoughts and memories flashing before her eyes. His lip twitched slightly, at the notion of invading her thoughts.

Malfoy's gaze was penetrating, but different. His grey eyes searched her face for a moment, before drawing slowly to her hand which was captured in his. His lips drew into a thin line, and he seemed to hesitate for a moment, unsure. Hermione waited with baited breath for his verdict.

Draco turned suddenly, still gripping her wrist, and marched resolutely towards the door to his study.

She jerked and stumbled after him, wincing at the pace that he set as her legs protested under her. She pursed her lips though. She'd be damned if she complained at this point.

But she wasn't sure if it were a good sign or not that he had yet to say anything – if it should be reassuring to her that he was leading her away from the destruction that she wrought.

Hermione focused her gaze on the hand that gripped hers, and noticed that they were both covered in blood – her blood. Presumably from where she had smashed his portrait, and she wondered briefly if he had been there long enough to witness that particular act of brilliance.

Another thought struck her, one that took her by surprise. Draco Malfoy, Pureblood wizard and bigoted fanatic, was _soiling_ himself with her blood – her _dirty _blood. But she didn't have the opportunity to examine that any further as pain shot through her leg, after having smashed into the corner of an overturned table.

Malfoy tensed, the scar from the Vow on his arm tingeing in discomfort as she struggled to cover up her pain, sucking the air threw her teeth quietly – a low hiss escaping her. He slowed his pace, not exactly eager to be dealt a reminder of his obligation to protect her, even from her own clumsy actions.

Flinging the door open in front of them, it met the wall behind it with a resounding _crack_.

Hermione stumbled out after him, her breaths coming in quick uneven gasps, as he quickened his pace down the long, dark hall.

Malfoy glared at the portraits that hung from the surrounding walls. The portraits of his ancestors. They seemed both angry, and delighted at the commotion, sneering nastily at Hermione as she followed loudly after him. They were apparently pleased to see her so distressed, bloodied as she was, and presumably thought that it was Draco that had done it.

No. But he burned with the desire to, there was no denying that. And his mind began formulating a plan, wondering where he could keep her – where he should detain her to keep her from harming herself any further. His arm pulsed and burned at the mere thought of it, a reminder of what she had cost him tonight.

The entrance hall came into view and Hermione wondered for the first time, where he intended on taking her.

Her heart jumped into her throat for a few tense moments as she realized that the door to the dungeon she had once been locked in by his aunt was on the other side of the hall they were currently traversing.

Her eyes widened at the notion. Was he that angry – was he _that_ furious with her that he'd lock her in the dungeon?

She watched his slightly hunched form and tense shoulders and realized that, yes, he certainly was angry enough. His silence was proof enough of that.

The idea that she should fight him – that she shouldn't go down without a struggle suddenly struck her, but before she could even properly formulate those thoughts, he turned abruptly and began to ascend the grand staircase to their right, leading them to the second floor.

Immediately her legs began to scream in pain at being forced to climb the steep marble steps. Her pace immediately slowed, even as Malfoy continued on at his furious rate. Her shoulder strained against his pull, and she was forced crashing down onto the steps as her feet couldn't keep up with him.

Malfoy was jerked back and he rounded on her, snarl in place, and eyes narrowed. He paused as he saw her there beneath him, and his lips pulled into a deep frown. A war waging deep inside of him.

There was a long silence as she stared at his shoes, expecting some sort of cutting remark. Hermione clutched at her chest, trying to catch her breath. Perhaps too soon, she rose, resting her free hand on her thigh, feeling her body as it shook under her weight.

Malfoy slowly descended the last step down to her and he paused briefly, glaring at her hunched shoulders, before he leaned over her. Swinging her into his arms like some sort of child, he took the steps two at a time to the top landing.

Hermione gasped, then groaned at his sudden actions, clutching the front of his shirt in her fists. One quick look up at his face silenced any harsh words that she might have said – twisted as it were into a dark scowl, promising severe consequences if she dared even breathe a word of dissent.

She glared, gaze transfixed upon his face as he walked with her crushed to his chest. The enchanted torches in the hall set an eerie glow across his features, creating odd, shifting shadows that melted and slipped into one another.

She glanced around the dimly lit area and realized belatedly, as he turned another corner, that he was headed for her chambers.

She narrowed her eyes, as she tried to figure out his intent. But like most every other time, she was left in the dark, trying to grasp at straws, only to realize that she was wrong yet again.

Her heart leapt into her throat as he walked right past her room, and seemed to be headed for his own. Her head whipped around and stared at him, open mouthed, the question poised on her lips, but refusing to be voiced. His face let no room for questioning or arguments.

She began to squirm and twist around in his grip, trying desperately to get out of his arms, even if the alternative was the cold marble floor.

Alarm shot through her and a desperate, frustrated sort of sound made its way past her lips.

And for Malfoy's part, he only gripped her tighter, crushing her to his chest powerfully.

She nearly convulsed when the gargoyles stationed next to his room blinked deviously at her, opening the doors for them.

"Calm yourself, Granger," Malfoy finally bit out, low and dangerous. His voice travelled through his chest and vibrated through her body.

But he might as well have said nothing at all for all the good it did her. In fact, she seemed to fight even harder against him, and he, true to form, only squeezed her tighter, forgetting for the briefest of moments about the Vow.

But a few paces in, she simply tensed and went rigid in his grip.

She stopped struggling as the doors shut behind them and she kept her eyes locked on the dark wooden frame – her only chance of escape. His shirt was clenched in both her fists, and she looked around his room suspiciously, remembering perfectly the last time she had been in there.

She remembered it all too well.

Hermione licked her lips anxiously, her previously lethargic body and mind pumped with adrenaline and alert to every move and sound.

The fireplace sprang to life suddenly, and she glared at its greenish flames.

Malfoy didn't dare loosen his grip just yet. He couldn't count on her not trying to bolt the moment he gave her an inch of leeway. And as docile and somewhat agreeable as she had been, coming with him all this way without complaint, he knew, just from the frantic beating of her heart, that had she known where he had intended on taking her, she certainly wouldn't have come easily – or quietly.

Hermione pursed her lips as the door they were headed for swung in on its hinges, presumably on Malfoy's command. She narrowed her eyes and relaxed by some degree as she realized that they were entering a dimly lit bathroom.

Her eyes danced along the edges of the enormous claw-foot tub in the center of the room, and onto the high vaulted ceiling that, like Hogwarts, was bewitched to look like the night sky. Candles covered open surfaces throughout the enormous room, affording them a small amount of light. Hermione glanced up suspiciously at Malfoy, but couldn't make out the expression on his face.

Draco stopped, counting the seconds before she realized they weren't moving anymore. He scowled as he realized that only a minute ago, she had been trying desperately to get away from him, whereas at the moment, she was nearly curling up into him as she looked around his bathroom.

She jerked in his grip, and glaring mildly up at him she finally seemed to come to her senses.

He tipped her, slowly, until she was seated on an empty stretch of the counter top, and walked away without a word.

She watched his retreating form and considered whether he was testing her – waiting to see what action she would take.

But at the moment, _no action_ suited her. So she glanced around nervously at his bathroom with its bewitched never-ceasing candlelight, and enthralling ceiling, and she felt comfortable for some reason. It took her a moment to figure out that it was because it reminded her of Hogwarts – the _old_ Hogwarts, under Dumbledore's influence.

Malfoy entered the room as suddenly as he had exited, and she watched apprehensively as he stalked towards her, his stare bearing down upon her.

He quickly gripped her right wrist again, and she finally realized what he had been so intent upon earlier, as the shards of glass caught the soft candle light, and glinted dangerously back at her.

Malfoy brought his free hand up, and a puff of grey smoke materialized in his palm. It quickly took the shape of a small metal object, which Hermione realized were a pair of tweezers.

Without saying a word, Malfoy leaned forward slightly, careful not to touch her knees that were bent in front of her, and diligently set about pulling the glass from her fist. The very glass that had previously covered his portrait.

She had a hard time concealing her suspicious gaze as he worked on her hand, and she couldn't help the voice in the back of her head that said that _this_ was very wrong.

She pursed her lips, and felt as her shoulders sagged once more under her exhaustion. The only sound that echoed through the room was their quiet breathing and the _clink _of the small shards of glass as he deposited them in the sink off to her left.

She glanced around the room once more, taking in the decadence of it, before her gaze was once more drawn intrinsically to Malfoy. She studied him critically, his features and expression open for her to explore without his equally assessing gaze looking back.

He was different than she remembered – certainly more masculine, more regal than she ever recalled him being. And certainly more than she would ever willingly admit aloud. But there was something else to him that she couldn't quite put her finger on, something that ran along the edges, and escaped her grasp.

She narrowed her eyes and licked her lips.

That seemed to gain his attention as his eyes snapped up to catch the movement, his silver gaze latched onto her lips, before sliding up to meet her eyes. A coolness spread throughout her hand, and the pain began to recede. But it didn't stop at her hand, nor her wrist, but spread steadily through her arm – up her shoulder and across her chest. Slow, yet powerful enough to mend her carelessly obtained wounds, the sensation ended simultaneously at the tips of her toes and her head, leaving her lips in the form of a cloud of cool, condensed breath.

She could feel her lips quirking despite herself. "Wandless _and_ non-verbal magic?" she said, trying to keep her voice neutral, but failing miserably and landing on this side of resentment.

It was the first thing she had said to him all evening, and his eyes seemed to gain a certain light to them. His lips pulled up into a shadow of a smirk, and she knew that she had just revealed to him another of her weaknesses – another of her deficiencies.

Because non-verbal magic was something that she had grasped relatively early, but as she had displayed that day in the corridor outside his room, she was poorly adept at wandless magic of any type. Many of the most basic spells were beyond her ability.

He was watching her again, his eyes roaming all over her face, seemingly searching for something. And she decided that she much preferred his scowl to his knowing, callous smirk.

He straightened, and stood to his full height once more, yet refused to relinquish his grip on her.

She studied him as critically as he was her in those moments, and wondered if she would ever get used to the predatory way that he watched her – the wary, hungry look that lingered over her. Waiting.

But waiting for what, she didn't know.

"Where have you been?" His voice ripped through the silence of the room and Hermione found herself recoiling from him slightly. "I told you to be back by midnight and here you are, returning well after three in the morning."

Her mind danced along the edges of those words for a few, lingering moments. She searched his face for any sign of deception, but realized that even if he were lying about not knowing _exactly_ what had occurred earlier that night, she had no way of knowing for sure.

He was a Slytherin, and more to the point – a Malfoy. Lying and deceit were ingrained in him. There was no doubt about that, and no point in trying to decipher his motives.

She licked her lips again, and once more, his eyes followed the movement.

Hermione frowned at the assessing gaze he was leveling her with and decided for once, that pure honesty was her best bet. She hesitated before finally saying simply, "Death Eater attack."

His eyes snapped up to meet hers, and in that moment she could feel him judging her words, weighing the truth in them.

He seemed to swallow several times before asking, "When?"

"Earlier this evening," she shot back immediately.

This was followed by another pregnant pause.

He was assessing her once more. "And where were you?"

Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth hung open slightly. "Where do you think? I just told you," she napped nastily.

He seemed on the verge of saying something, but then decided to keep it to himself.

Shaking his head slowly he leaned into her. "No more of this game, Granger. No more. You won't be doing these missions after tonight, prized as I know you find them." His voice slid over her like cold water and she felt herself become instantly more alert. He was expecting a fight – some resistance, and he knew he had her in a bind. Pinned beneath him once again.

She could feel her nose flare and her eyes darted down to his chest. What he didn't know was that she was banished from the Order at the moment – no longer welcome to their information and certainly not allowed to join in on missions.

"What do you care?" she snapped ruefully. "It's not like it's any danger to you."

His eyes flashed at her and she could see him trying to reign in his temper. "You forget so easily, Granger, how uncompromisingly bound I am to you."

Hermione glared at Malfoy fiercely and tried to shove him out of her personal space. "That's a load of rubbish," she hissed.

He didn't budge an inch, instead he leaned into her further, bracing his arms on either side of her on the counter, resting himself precariously in between her legs.

She lashed out in fear. "What good is that bond? It offers me little to no protection at all."

He scoffed at her words. "Is that so?"

She could see the challenge in his eyes, in his body, so ready to spring.

And as much as she wanted to give him that fight – as much as she relished the idea of beating him at his own game, she didn't have the strength for it. She could already feel the exhaustion gnawing away at her despite her attempts to appear strong and resilient.

This was an argument for another day.

She sunk back away from him slowly, defeated. She closed her eyes and clenched her jaw. Her next words were hard to force out and came as nearly a whisper, "I certainly could have used your help tonight."

A confession of sorts.

And Draco held his breath for a moment, afraid that he might miss whatever it was she was about to say. He could see that it was taking a great deal of effort to voice the words, so he remained quiet. Demanding the truth might get him a lie, but if he remained silent, she may actually give him the truth willingly. He looked her over once more, the marks on her face and exposed skin more prominent with the flush that her skin had taken on. His eyes slipped over them, willing him to take no notice.

But he did. And they infuriated him.

Hermione could hear her own pulse beat wildly against her chest. She swallowed her pride as she continued. "You ask me where _I_ was?" she paused, a lump had formed in her throat but she pushed it back, swallowing several times. "I needed you and you weren't there."

She opened her eyes once more to find him staring at her intently, heatedly, his shoulders rising and falling with his deep, labor-some breaths.

"Where _were_ you, tonight? Why weren't you there when your dear Auntie Bella was chasing me through a bloody forest, Draco?"

He had closed his eyes briefly, and when they opened, dilated and murderous, she shirked back from him, even though she knew his current mood wasn't directed at her.

His eyes searched her face and her glossy, determined eyes. She shook her head stubbornly. Searching for her next words, wondering absentmindedly if saying his name had any effect on him. _Draco_.

He had saved her once, although it was something they'd never once mentioned since. She was too stubborn to admit that he had actually risked himself to save her life – and part of her wondered if he regretted it. If he had know back then, that he'd be battling her on a daily basis – that he'd be practically forced into marrying her to reinstate his family's prestige and honor – would he have allowed his uncle to kill her? Would he have stayed his hand, as Rodolphus raised his, in a violent display of hatred, and watched as she faded and crumpled?

She stared resolutely at his chest, as the thoughts tore through her. The _what ifs_ and _could have beens _that constantly bombarded her.

He had killed his own uncle to save her, and had never even spared her a glance afterwards. No snide comment, no sneer or condescending look.

Nothing at all.

Just a forceful, _Avada Kadavera_, and he was gone.

Looking at him now, she knew the same thoughts were running through his head. The fact that his aunt wanted both of them dead for killing her husband was widely know, and she wondered if this was why some of the Wizarding community had accepted the Malfoys back with open arms. Pity. That could be it. Because _no one_ wanted to be on the personal hit list of Bellatrix Lestrange.

He grabbed her suddenly, almost roughly with both hands. "You must vow to me that you are done with your blasted missions, Granger." He gave her a good shake for measure. "Promise me."

She gasped in his grasp and struggled for a moment, which only seemed to infuriate him further. "What's it matter, Malfoy? Fat load of good the bond did, if you weren't compelled to help me tonight."

He shoved her away suddenly as though she were on fire. She locked gazes with him, only to find herself shrinking from his expression. His eyes bore into her as he unfastened his cloak, a meaningful look in his eyes.

Alarm bells went off in her head and the panic began to churn in her stomach, making her throat tighten up. "What – " she gasped. "What do you think you're doing?"

He watched her as his hands began to unbutton his shirt, and her eyes darted around the room, quickly realizing that her only exit lay on the opposite side of the room in the form of the door leading to his bedroom.

She shoved against him, trying to dislodge him from between her legs. He batted her away easily enough, as though she were a child, and she began to rain furious hits upon his chest and shoulders, fear creeping through her.

'_Her wouldn't, would he?' _Was the only thought that leaked through coherently in her mind.

She jerked back when he threw open his shirt and freed his right arm.

"Look," he said furiously, shoving his arm out in front of him. "Just look at what your precious bond has done to me, you fool."

Her mind was slow to react, first looking to his face, to decipher the expression there, only to find anger and irritation – even a bit of resignation.

She realized then, that he had been avoiding at all costs revealing to her his pain.

Her eyes travelled down his neck, almost afraid of what she would find, but she needn't look far. She tried to stifle the gasp that sprang up in her throat but it was no use.

Her hand covered her mouth as her eyes raced up and down the length of his arm.

A grotesque red and purple burn had torn its way up his arm, starting at his wrist where the original scar from the Vow started, and winding up along his pale skin, wrapping around his shoulder – far higher than it should have been. The Vow had left them both scarred, but it stopped at the elbow, and she could trace that much with her eyes, but this wound that he had, snaked its way up the entire length of his arm, and would have presumably kept going if it weren't for the fact that she had been safe in the end.

It twisted and turned, weaving an angry pattern over his pale skin and her hand unconsciously reached out towards him, wanting to touch the mark with her hand, to soothe the angry, bleeding blisters – but he jerked back and shoved his arm angrily into his sleeve once more.

Her eyes had darted to his left arm, instinctively seeking out the Dark Mark she knew must be there, but he was quick to cover both arms from her prying stare.

He leaned into her once more, and she couldn't even muster a weak glare at his hostile movement.

"So now, I demand that you promise you are done with your missions. Swear to me _on your word_ that you're done with it," he whispered, his voice unable to go above that.

She swallowed thickly, and nodded her head. "Yes, I promise."

He seemed suspicious of her quick acquiescence, as he stared at her for long moments, his breath beating against the side of her face as she tried to avoid his eyes.

She stared instead at his hands planted next to her, his chest, visible under his shirt, his waist peeking out at her, and finally found purchase on his shoulders which were hunched over her.

"Why didn't you come find me, if you knew I was in trouble then?" she blurted out, before she was able to stop herself.

He seemed to breathe deeply before answering. "Wherever you were, it was an enchanted place, and I wasn't able to get to you in time."

She nodded her head absently. It was as Harry had thought. He _had_ tried.

He stood there, leaning over her for quite some time, and she let him, simply because she felt like she owed him.

He was probably out of his mind with worry about where she was (regardless of the fact that is was more out of concern for his own arse than hers) and what does she do when she gets back to the manor? She doesn't start working on gaining his trust – getting close to him like she should have been – like she promised Harry. Instead she had tried her damndest to destroy everything he held near and dear to him.

And his response? Was to clean her up – mend the wounds she got while wreaking havoc on his life.

She felt a sudden wave of gratitude towards him.

Short lived of course, but it had been there briefly all the same.

Malfoy straightened himself, and her gaze finally wandered from his exposed shoulders to his face, which was watching her with a peculiar expression.

She stood up in front of him, noticing that he still wasn't giving her any more space than he thought necessary.

With a small wave of his hand, the tub behind him began to fill with water, and a light, sweet smell assaulted her nose.

"Bathe, and then you'll sleep in here for the night." It was a command, not a request, and certainly not something that was up for discussion.

The argument rose in her throat, but was silenced by the look on his face.

_She owed him._

Instead she said, "And where are you going to sleep?"

He leveled her with a nasty smile – one that she didn't like in the least, before he walked away from her, heading for the door.

He stopped dead in his tracks after he got a few paces from her. "Whose clothes are you wearing?" His voice echoed through the cavernous space.

She hesitated in answering for a moment as she looked down at her garments. They were loaned to her, since her cloak and blouse had been torn to shreds by Fenrir. They hung off her body rather oddly, and she didn't have a likely excuse as to why she was wearing them, but either way, she knew Malfoy wasn't going to like her answer.

Looking back up at him, she found that he had already advanced on her a few steps, a rather curious expression plastered on his face.

She couldn't look him in the face as she answered, and a flush rose up over her cheeks. She shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "They're Harry's. Mine were a bit torn up."

She knew immediately that she said the wrong thing. The expression he wore, melted into his usual cold mask of indifference, and his lips pulled together thinly.

"Take them off," he demanded, quietly.

She jerked as though she'd been slapped, and her hand flew to the neck of her shirt, as though she thought he might take it forcibly from her.

"What –? No," she said quickly.

Malfoy closed his eyes before advancing on her slowing.

"Listen, I have to take them off to get in the bath anyways, don't I?" she said hastily. "Just wait until you've left the room."

"No," he said adamantly. "Take them off now, Granger. I won't have you sleeping in my bed with Harry _fucking_ Potter's clothes on."

She shook her head at him more forcefully. "What would you have me wear then?" she asked shrilly. There was only so much she was willing to give up at this point to make amends for what she did to his study.

"I don't bloody care what you wear, but it won't be that," he ground out.

He would have her pressed against the counter at any moment, and that was a position she wished to avoid at all costs.

"Fine," she matched his tone. "Just turn around then, won't you?"

He did as she asked, promptly before summoning a towel and tossing it over his shoulder to her, his hand out and waiting for her to deposit Harry's clothes.

She huffed angrily, wondering what it would take and how long she was going to have to bend to his will before she would be forgiven, but she realized belatedly that he would never make that moment clear, because in his eyes, she owed him for a lot more than simply that.

She looked around the room briefly, making sure there were no mirrors for him to spy her in, and promptly began undressing, keeping her eyes on Malfoy's back the entire time, an embarrassed flush covering her cheeks and chest. She couldn't help but dwell on the facts of the matter.

She was naked in the same room as Draco Malfoy.

Certainly not under what anyone would call _normal_ circumstances, but the fact of the matter remained.

She secured the large green towel under her arms and hastily threw Harry's clothes in Malfoy's waiting hand. He fisted the offending material, and without word or glance, exited the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

And . . . breath. So there it is. I hope that it was worth the wait, and like I promised, there was plenty of Draco in this one. So, let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is _always _welcome, and I really appreciate the support and kind words from _all_ of you.

Once again, this is dedicated to Blue Wonderland, and if you haven't checked out her story _To Give the Devil His Due_, you really should. It'll be well worth your time.

Jess


	11. Oh, Sweet Melancholy

AN: Well hello there! Let's skip the excuses for the delay, and get on with the story, shall we? The beginning here is obviously an article, and I thought I'd just rant a bit about how I can't get it to format the way I want it to. After very deliberately going through and adding spaces between words to have it completely even on both sides, the text editor here shucked all of those out and left me with a bit of a mess. Oh well, there are greater tragedies in the world.

* * *

**Simply Neurotic**

**Chapter Eleven**

**Oh, Sweet Melancholy**

**The Woes of Theodora Tudor**

**T**oday marks the two year anniversary of our Minister's succession into

office – and what a remarkable time it's been! As most should recall,

Theodora Tudor's rise to office was achieved merely months after her

father's tragic assassination, two and a half years ago, _writes Special _

_Correspondent, Rita Skeeter_.

And still more importantly, she owes her success and the easy defeat

of the opposing candidate, Amos Diggory, to the beloved Hermione

Granger – best friend to Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Miss Granger

was a huge supporter and advocate of Rupert Tudor's daughter, having

never openly endorsed the man himself.

The rather public fallout between the twenty-two year old Miss Granger

and Miss Tudor merely weeks after the election was both shocking and

dramatic, leaving the two at odds ever since – the former, merely citing

a difference in ideology as the reason for their abrupt disengagement

_(see issues 199, 201 & 202 of the Daily Prophet)_. That seems to have

been the beginning of the Minister's problems, as recent events may

prove. Although, it has often been speculated that it is the Minister's

_Open Management_ program that had forced the two apart, since Miss

Granger has been against the legislation since the very inception of it.

According to her, it is a "vile and distrustful instrument of government

mismanagement." Strong words coming from the mouth of one of the

public's most trusted figures. And some would argue about the merits

of a Minister who has the support of neither Hermione Granger, nor

Harry Potter.

And yet, there is no doubt that the _Pureblood_ witch Theodora Tudor has

been wildly popular since she was voted in as Minister of Magic – despite

her often criticized and somewhat controversial methods for battling dissent

and the threat of the Dark Arts (_see issues 204, 207,219, 221, 229 & 230 of _

_the Daily Prophet for compelling articles written by the vivacious Rita Skeeter_),

but according to good sources, the Minister may be losing her ability to

handle the demands of her office.

Calling to mind the evacuation of the Ministry back in February, and previously

to that, the destruction of the Muggle Prime Minister's office last October,

many will recall the government's attempts to hush up the disasters, one after

another. And it would seem as though last night's odd occurrences will yield the

same results.

Twenty-five year old Viktor Krum, a notoriously handsome and clever young man,

once the acclaimed seeker on the Bulgarian National Quidditch team, met with

me for coffee this morning. "That woman – I don't trust her one bit," he concedes

after taking a sip of his coffee (black, two sugars). "There is something very

wrong about the way she operates. She doesn't think she has to answer to

anyone." According to Mr. Krum, who's recent breakup with Miss Granger, and her

subsequent engagement to Draco Malfoy, has led to public outcry _(see issue 234 _

_of the Daily Prophet, also penned by the delightful Rita Skeeter),_ characterizes the

Minister as a power-hungry and vindictive woman. One, who he says, will stop at

nothing to get what she wants.

After last night's suspicious activities, and the Dark Mark marring the sky all across

Britain, fears have abounded, and the Minister has yet to comment on the matter.

And as neither Harry Potter, nor Hermione Granger have been seen in days, what is

the public to make of this? Mr. Krum, maintaining a close relationship with both Mr.

Potter and Miss Granger, confides to me that they are both perfectly well. The

Minister's office has conveniently declined to offer a statement, but assures the public

that we are not to worry. And as some cry out for the Minister to take a bow from

her position . . . _(cont'd on page 3)_

**XXX**_  
_

Theodora tossed the _Daily Prophet_ across her desk, watching as the picture that was taken of her earlier that morning flashed brightly from the front page. The scowl that was plastered on her face in the photo as she trudged through the Ministry's atrium doubtlessly matched the one she currently bore.

She brought her hands up to message her temples, the headache she'd had for the last few hours was waging war against the _pain-away_ charm that she had cast numerous times already. It was clever of the reporter to mention Krum's connection to Hermione - otherwise his statement would be of no consequence. But as it stands, her day just got a whole lot worse.

_Rita Skeeter . . ._

A sharp knock at her office door brought her mind back from the path it had been wandering down. And judging by the ticking of her clenched jaw, it was most probably a good thing.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had absolutely no problem locating the room's occupant, and not simply because of the fact that she was sitting squarely behind her desk, but because of the hostility and anger that seemed to radiate from her, directed at the moment, solely at him.

The room, dimly lit though it was, was easily recognizable. It was the same office that every preceding Minister had occupied since the 1800's, Theodora's father included. And truth be told, it had seen better days.

For someone so immaculate – so obscenely organized, it was a rather nasty testament to her state to find the room looking the way it did.

Her waste basket was overflowing with notes and invoices, inter-office memos and official papers. Her desk was covered with papers and quills – ink soiled the deep mahogany of her work surface, and had even spotted the right elbow of her maroon robes.

The rug that he knew to be centered in the room, was nowhere to be seen underneath the papers that were strewn about, covered, interestingly enough, in owl droppings.

It had been a busy morning for her as well it seemed.

Sitting in the seat across from her silently, he knew what to expect – but her silence was certainly not what he anticipated.

They stared at one another for long, tense moments, the clock over her shoulder that displayed – not the time – but rather, the Minister's current mood, was vibrating quietly, affixed at the moment on _any last words?_

Theodora finally dropped her gaze to her desk, her frown seemed to deepen, and Kingsley followed her stare, feeling himself mirror her expression as he realized she had already read the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet._ He had hoped to beat her to it – explain and diffuse the situation before she had to opportunity to work herself up over it.

That made her silence all the more unsettling.

"He's one of yours?" Theodora's tone made it clear that it was a statement of fact, not a question. Her voice was deadly quiet, her gaze contemplative, as she brought her hands together in front of her, resting on her armrests, fingers steepled.

Kingsley allowed a moment to pass, feigning ignorance. "Excuse me?" But of course he knew what she was referring to, and naturally, in matters like these, he had no viable excuse. No explanation for why a member of the Order of the Phoenix would contact a reporter - and not just any reporter - but Rita Skeeter.

_Hermione's reporter._

Krum had been acting oddly over the last several weeks, but Kingsley could only attribute that to stress. The war was at a critical stage, they all knew it. They could _feel _it. And after the split with Hermione, which he still wasn't entirely sure about the details of, he had chalked it up to sadness - perhaps a bit of anger over the situation, but other than that, he chose to overlook it. But something like this? Putting his name out there in an attack against the Minister? Especially when things were precarious between the Order and Theodora. It was inexcusable, and Kingsley would no longer be able to overlook Krum's peculiar behavior. Not when it drew attention to them.

Theodora lips pulled together as she enunciated the words carefully, drawing out the syllables. "_Viktor . . . Krum,"_

Her eyes darted up to meet Kingsley's. "Don't play dumb with me, Shacklebolt. He's one of your _people," _she said with an air of flippancy, waving her hand around airily, although the emphasized word held all manner of seriousness. An intense expression overtook her. "_Notoriously handsome_ – Hermione's boy, I remember meeting him once."

Kingsley inhaled heavily, the only indication that he was uncomfortable with the way the conversation was headed.

"Where is she? Hermione, of course. Is she alright?"

The question caught Kingsley off guard, and he considered his words carefully. There was something about the way she was watching him that made him feel as though there was much more to that question than she let on.

"She's fine." He said smoothly, never blinking. "Safe."

Theodora nodded after a moment, averting her gaze to the wall behind Kingsley. She nodded to herself once more. "And where is she? Where exactly is she _safe_?"

Kingsley frowned. "Malfoy manor. Heavily guarded and well shielded, I assure you."

Theodora's eyelids fluttered for a moment. "Of course," she whispered, seemingly distracted by her own thoughts.

There was something distinctly off about the way she said that – something peculiar, that Kingsley snagged onto. Theodora had said little to nothing concerning Hermione in the last two years of his dealings with the minister, so her sudden interest was something to consider – but best left to be examined at a later time.

"And what of Harry Potter? Where is Boy Wonder?"

Kingsley crossed his arms over his chest slowly, apparently gaining Theodora's full attention once more. There's gazes met, and held.

"Safe."

"And where exactly is that?"

"I don't know," he answered truthfully.

"Wrong answer." Theodora watched him interestedly. "Try again, my faithful servant. Where is Mr. Harry Potter?"

Kingsley smiled lightly. "With all due respect, Minister, you'll have to forgive me when I say that I have no idea where he is, at the moment. That information is confidential. Things got rough last night, so the headquarters was re-located. Your _lowly_ servant is not privy to the information at the moment."

Theodora smiled sweetly at him, but he saw the twitch of her lips, the clench of her jaw.

She slammed her fist onto the surface on the desk, upsetting an owl nearby, and toppling a jar of ink. Surging out of her seat, she leaned threateningly over her desk. "You forget who you work for, Shacklebolt. You forget where your loyalties lie," she accused.

Training his features into a serious, deadly calm expression, he was quick to answer, unperturbed by her outburst and attempt to cow him. "I work for the greater good, I serve no one's personal interests."

"No, you work for _me_. Don't delude yourself here. The only reason that you were made head of the Auror Department was because of your ties to the Order of the Phoenix. You are supposed to supply me with timely information, but I find that time and time again, you have failed me." Her words were spoken low, and held all of the bite and condescension that she could possibly inject into it.

Kingsley clenched his jaw, working to contain his anger. It was true, of course. He did work for her, but he also worked for the Order. He and Arthur Weasley were the only ones who were working on both sides, trying to promote unity and cooperation that would be mutually beneficial.

It was necessary after all.

And as head of the Auror Department, he was able to coordinate strikes between the Order and the Ministry. It had worked rather well, and as long as there were results, Theodora didn't meddle in his work – but it seemed as though that was all coming to an end.

She had since seated herself back in her plush leather chair, her shoulders hunched and tense, a murderous look plastered on her face.

Again, her silence was uncharacteristic. Something was amiss. Glancing at the Foe Glass mounted to the wall off to his side, he couldn't make anything out that was immediately threatening, and even the Sneak-o-Scope that teetered on the edge of her desk was calm and subdued.

He knew it was her, of course, even without the magical instruments to confirm it for him. But he couldn't help but feel like there was a certain strain underlying her actions – more so than normal, and perhaps . . . perhaps the _Prophet_ was right. Perhaps the minister was finally cracking under the weight of everything.

Trying to operate under the pretense that a massive war weren't going on in their midst could do that, to be sure.

But somehow, he doubted that was it. Looking her over for a moment, he lingered on the bags under her eyes that weren't there the previous day. So she hadn't slept well, but certainly, who had? He considered that for a moment, realizing that the attack had occurred much too early for her have lost sleep over – so what else was it? Bad timing perhaps.

And yet, here she was, clearly brooding over something.

"I expect you received my report?" He finally ventured, breaking her out of her musings.

Theodora scoffed. "That load of absolute rubbish?" She shook her head and pointed somewhere over his shoulder. "Would you believe that all forty-seven pages of it still couldn't entirely cover my Persian rug? I had to use the last half of Weasley's report as well." She held up the cover page of the report Arthur had put together in the early hours of the day, brandishing it for him to see, the few pages left fluttering madly as she flung it haphazardly across the room.

"Five people dead – five notable deaths, Shacklebolt," she ground out, messaging her temples once more. "And all you can provide me with is a vague rendition of last night's events that involves little to no actual factual information. I am the Minister of Magic for the love of Merlin!"

She glared at Kingsley, apparently not finished unloading her disgust and disappointment upon him yet. "How am I supposed to make a statement. What am I suppose to explain – _especially_ after that foul woman has already had her say on the matter." She gestured forcefully to the _Daily Prophet_ on her desk.

Kingsley remained silent. Dealing with her for the last two years told him that it was infinitely better to simply let her vent, than to try to justify himself or the actions taken by the Order.

"You know what this means, right?" she concluded, finally leveling Kingsley with her heated stare once more. "There are going to have to be more strikes. More _Management _strikes."

A frown settled over Kingsley's features. "I would beg you to reconsider."

Theodora scoffed, and Kingsley heaved a tremendous sigh. "They're not going to like it, you know that."

"Like I give a _damn_ what they want. They've had their chance to do things their way. Now we're going to do things the way _I've_ been saying we needed to, since the first day I took office, Order of the Phoenix be damned. It's what the public will expect. It's what my office demands." Her hand came down onto the desk again, a fluttering of feathers off to the side of them.

Kingsley's jaw clenched together forcefully, but he knew there was no arguing it. He recognized the way she ended the conversation, as though to say, '_and_ _that is that_.' She'd made her mind up already, most probably before he even arrived. That must have been what was on her mind then, it only made sense.

Taking a deep breath, Kingsley nodded his head briefly. He knew there was no changing her mind, but he had hoped that it wouldn't have to come to this. They all had. "Very well, Minister," he acquiesced.

"And put together something that I can actually use, Shacklebolt," she said, thrusting a folder towards him. "I have a press conference in little over three hours. I need facts to present to the people, or there's going to be a mass panic."

Kingsley nodded, rising slowly from his seat. Considering for a moment, he said, "Perhaps you'd like to go home early and get some rest. You look quite tired, Theodora." He watched her reaction, noting the way that her eyes flickered over him, holding his stare.

A contemptuous smile spread over her face, as though she knew what he was up to. "No thank you, Shacklebolt. It looks as though I will be here all night for the second evening in a row."

Kingsley nodded solemnly, bowing himself out. "As you wish, Minister."

"And _when _you see Hermione, tell her to answer her bloody owls!" she snapped testily, trying to rearrange the papers on her desk with a vengeance.

Kingsley shut her door quietly, wondering why she had lied to him. Why she had said she was there all night, when he knew for a fact she had left her office before ten p.m. the night before.

Another thing to consider.

* * *

"This will not end well for you, Draco, surely you can see that." Lucius was persistent, Draco would grant him that. But it was exactly that persistence and meddling that drove Draco to the edge sometimes.

Their footsteps echoed down the hall, perfectly in step.

Draco snatched at the tie secured around his throat and jerked it roughly back and forth, loosening it before undoing the top button of his shirt.

The feeling of suffocation, however, still clung to him.

"I demand that you see reason, Draco. She will be the death of you," Lucius bit out harshly, losing patience with his only son.

Draco's scowl deepened, and his lips pulled back into a grimace. He didn't need his father to clarify, he knew exactly who he was referring to. The only question at this point, was whether it was going to be _her_ or Granger that finally brought his manufactured world to a standstill.

Lucius grabbed Draco's shoulder suddenly, jerking him around to look at him. "This needs to end; you know what you need to do."

Draco jerked himself out of his father's vice-like grip. Long gone were the times when he allowed his father to manipulate him. Lucius, however, seemed thoroughly unaware of this.

"No, you listen to me old man," he bit out. "You seem to have forgotten our compromise. Buying the favor of the Ministry by arranging for me to marry Granger means that you _gave up_ your right to make demands." Draco straightened his shoulders, and brushed off the sleeve that had been rumpled under Lucius' grip. "Now," he began more calmly, satisfied that he had his father's full attention. "You would do well to keep yourself out of my affairs, _Lucius. _What I do should be no cause for concern for you."

Lucius scoffed. "You come home," he paused to give Draco a once over, "covered in dirt, riddled with marks and blood and you dare suggest that I keep out of your affairs?" Lucius crossed his arms over his chest, an air of disdain flowing from him. "You are in over your head, _boy_."

Draco sneered at his father. "You aren't going to like what's in store for the next couple of months, Lucius. As always, you've done a marvelous job screwing things up, and I'm left to pick up the pieces."

Draco didn't allow his father any time to respond - he knew he didn't need to. It was a low blow, but then, Draco never was a fair fighter.

His mind wandered to the witch that was captive in his room, and realized that she may very well be the thing that tips the scale in his favor. A grimace crept onto his face. Allowing that she didn't destroy his chambers after finding herself locked inside the night before, he might spare her the brunt of his anger. Because it was due to her that he bore the marks that his father had so studiously pointed out. He hoped that she had a restful night of sleep, because he sure as hell did not, and he was going to let her know exactly how displeased he was.

Lying, even by omission, was not something that he would tolerate.

* * *

Hermione cocked her head to the side and squinted at the page, before deciding that the word which was so faintly there was definitely _died _and not _spied,_ as she had thought earlier, although neither really made sense in the context of the sentence.

She labored over the page, bringing it to the tip of her nose, and tilting it at odd angles to let the light from the window play against its surface. It was mostly legible. Mostly. But it seemed that the crucial words, the ones that would have decided the tone of the entire paragraph, were almost deliberately missing. Washed clean off the page – but if she squinted just right, maybe . . .

She jerked almost violently as the door crashed into the wall behind it. She whirled around in her seat, a nasty snarl in place for the person she had been waiting on all morning. It was a devious bit of magic that had kept her locked in there in the first place, the type that could only be undone by the caster. She was none too pleased with his flashy use of spells, especially when it was at her expense. Especially when it resulted in a fitful night of sleep in the bedchambers of her enemy.

Those thoughts were cut short though. Her face fell almost immediately, and the book that she had been occupied with for the last several hours slid off her lap as she bolted up, landing with a dull _thud_ on the floor.

This seemed to capture Malfoy's attention, as his eyes narrowed in on her. But he was apparently feeling stingy with his scathing looks this morning, and only offered her a passing sneer, before he made his way over to the cabinet by the window with determined steps. He flung the doors open with more force than was necessary, and set about pouring himself a _not exactly_ modest glass of Fire Whiskey.

Hermione remained silent, watching his tense shoulders as he worked and took quiet inventory of his appearance.

He turned towards her, glass already raised to his lips.

He looked like shit, truth be told.

Hermione frowned. It was rare occasion to see so much as his shirt tails pulled out of his pants, and yet here he was – mud caking his shoes and slacks, shirt soiled with what looked suspiciously like blood, and his hair in a messy disarray.

He leaned against the shelf of the cabinet as he downed the entire glass of Fire Whiskey, his eyes never leaving her face. He pursed his lips, allowing the liquid to scorch and slide down his throat.

He turned, grabbed the bottle and poured himself another.

Hermione cocked an eyebrow at that, and watched with unconcealed interest as he returned to staring at her furiously over the rim of his glass.

And still, she was silent.

The ring on his right hand glittered at her in the sunlight then, which drew her attention to the fingers clasped around the glass – or more importantly, to his knuckles which were caked in dark smears of blood.

A fist fight? Truly?

She wanted to laugh at the idea of it, but the significance wasn't lost on her. _Who_ exactly had he gotten into a scuffle with? And why?

Her eyes darted back to his, and if he knew what she had seen, he didn't seem to care. The glass dropped from his lips after one last, long draw.

Hermione, brow still cocked, took one step towards him, before the left side of his mouth slid back into a tight smirk.

But it was weak, and even he seemed to realize that as it faltered – stuttered, and fell from his lips all together. An intense, but absurdly resigned look overtook his features, and Hermione nearly flinched at the expression, so unlike him and yet so painfully familiar.

Hermione didn't hesitate. Taking the last three steps towards him, she rocked back on her heals as she came to an abrupt stop, her left foot planted between the two of his slightly outstretched legs. Maybe it was a sign of trust.

That's what he took it as. Tentative though it may be.

Malfoy's lips twitched as she inhaled deeply.

He smelled of campfire smoke and alcohol. The latter, unsurprisingly – but smoke?

The possibilities were endless, she supposed, but she wasn't exactly patient.

He stood stock still as she tried to read him. He wasn't afraid of what she'd see looking intently into his gaze the way she was. He was well guarded. Even from her. _Especially from her._

Hermione cocked her head to the side, before looking down at the glass that he still clutched in his hand. How to proceed?

Her mind began to spit out options – but the spinner landed on reconciliation_. _

"How 'bout you give me this," she suggested quietly, reaching down and letting her fingers settle on his as she gripped the glass.

Malfoy couldn't help but marvel at her. Such a wonderful little actress, he thought distantly. But then again, isn't that what the job calls for? He knew that – experienced it personally. You are only as good as the untruths you tell, and how easily people eat them up.

His eyes lingered on the side of her face, and the complacent feeling that had been pumping through him broke away, letting the irritation and pensiveness break through their shallow confines. The mark on the side of her face glared brilliantly at him, teasingly.

His grip tightened on the glass in his hand before he eased his fingers and she slipped it away from him.

Leaning around him, Hermione set it on the shelf he was slouched against. "You look tired," she said plainly, looking back up into his face.

He missed a beat, before his lips pulled back into a slight frown. "You lied to me."

Hermione cocked her head to the side. Honestly? He doesn't come home all night, looks a fright when he finally lumbers in at 9am, and all that's on his mind is that he thinks she's lied to him.

Dear god, the possibilities were endless.

She made an indeterminate sound in the back of her throat and let her eyes scan over his body once more.

His arm came up slowly, as though he were giving her the opportunity to move away, or perhaps daring her to. When she didn't move, he gripped her upper arm loosely, and yanked her forward.

She crashed into his chest, a noise of indignation escaping her. She was working towards a truce here, she owed him, but why did he have to act like the arse she knows he is? She glared up at him, splaying her hands against his chest and heaved against his body. It shouldn't have surprised her when he didn't budge an inch, but she had gambled on him being tired because of his lack of sleep and overall disheveled appearance. Wrong to assume. Should have known.

His face was expressionless, but his eyes were locked onto the side of her face. Licking his lips, he brought his other arm up and ran the back of his hand over her marred cheek.

She jerked from the connection, mouth slightly agape. Was this another ploy? Another one of his _let's fuck with Hermione's emotions_ games? Because it was working.

He knew – he _knew_ – the way he affected her. Some sort of adverse reaction to his closeness, to his painfully gentle touches and looks. His fists and scathing looks she could take - it was the carefulness of his gestures that affected her - hurt her. Because it was so much easier to believe he was a monster when he was acting like one.

"You forgot to tell me you and Fenrir had a little run-in last night. What I had thought was a party of two for you and dear aunt Bella, was in fact a _ménage_ à _trios_."

Hermione blanched. She averted her gaze to the collar of his shirt, which interestingly enough, had droplets of dark blood dried to it.

Malfoy shoved her away ruthlessly - and just like that, the spell was broken.

Reaching into the pocket of his pants, he retrieved a small glass bottle. Hermione watched him suspiciously, her shoulders tense, half expecting an attack.

Malfoy took a few steps forward, close enough to crowd her space and was slightly amused when she didn't back down. He thrust the bottle into her chest, forcing her to clutch at it awkwardly.

"Get out," he whispered. He turned on his heel, determined to drink himself into oblivion.

The nerve of that prick, acting as though she were intruding on him. He had locked her inside his room for the entire night! It's not like she was given much of a choice in the matter. She gaped at his hunched shoulders and struggled with what to say first. Because she had a list, comprised of the most foul things imaginable, all poetically characterizing her feelings towards him.

The clink of glass against glass brought Hermione out of her thoughts enough to voice her irritation. But she reined it in. _Remember, reconciliation. _She heaved a silent sigh.

Holding the bottle up to the light that filtered through the window, she inspected the brown substance. She wrinkled her nose, "And what, exactly, am I suppose to do with this? Drink it?" her tone was disbelieving with a sprinkle of mockery.

Malfoy hunched over the shelf he was working on, and hung his head low. "Yes, Granger, that's exactly what I expect you to do." He looked at her over his shoulder to find her grimacing at the small bottle, the top was uncorked and in the palm of her hand. He knew how foul it smelled.

"No thanks." She closed the bottle up, and extended it towards him. "I'd rather not."

There was a tick somewhere in Malfoy's clenched jaw. He advanced on her quickly, before he stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes darted over her body, and Hermione quickly folded her arms over her chest. She knew what he was looking at, and she had enough sense to be embarrassed about it.

"What are you wearing?" he asked, disbelievingly. A low threat was laced in his words, and it wasn't lost on her.

"It's not exactly like you gave me much of an option, now did you?" she snapped, quickly averting her gaze once more. She was suddenly extremely flushed, and she shifted her weight between her two feet. She was painfully aware of the way that the pants she wore, cuffed at the ankles, brushed against her thick black socks.

Malfoy made an odd noise, halfway between a scoff and a snarl.

"I didn't say you were allowed to peruse my drawers during your stay in my bed chambers, Granger." Although he knew she must have done much more than raid his closet.

His eyes swept over her once more. Her discomfort was obvious. It was almost difficult for him to contain the bark of laughter that threatened to spill from his lips. Cocking his head to the side, he could already feel the effects of the alcohol hijacking his body. He glared at her, standing in one of his white long sleeved button down shirts and black trousers – the ends of which she must have had to roll up numerous times so that she could walk. He swallowed thickly. "Did you truly sleep in that?"

She finally met his gaze, prepared to snap at him, until she noticed the slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. She narrowed her eyes. Her first impulse was always to rip his head off, it was second nature. This truce, or whatever it was, was rather taxing.

She nodded her head to his question belatedly. "The only other option was to wear nothing – " she flushed again at the heated stare he fixed her with, "—and that was certainly not an option at all," she finished hastily. "So, yes. I wore some of your clothes to sleep."

"In my bed?"

She eyed him, not liking the look he had her fixed with. She swallowed before answering slowly. "Yes." His smile crept back into a more telling smirk. "In your bed," she added.

He advanced on her once more, slowly. She turned her head slightly to one side, not really understanding the expression that he was wearing, nor the way that her heartbeat picked up. She couldn't handle the weight of his stare, so she opted for the established neutral territory of his chest. When he got close enough, she shoved her hand out in front of her, the glass of the unknown potion offered to him. "Here," she said distractedly.

He wasn't the least bit interested. There was something that was nagging at him, something that he longed to know. When she had spent those two days in her epic sleep bout he had looked in on her, not out of concern – but rather out of curiosity.

_Granger talked in her sleep._

Her hand met his chest, and crumpled as he continued in his advance. In her stubbornness, she refused to back away, but with one look up at his face, she realized she should have moved much sooner.

Her feet shuffled backwards quickly, but his arm latched onto her shoulder, anchoring her to the spot.

Malfoy cocked his head at her, his mind floating absently towards the possibility that Granger was afraid of him. Something to think on later. But not now, not when the alcohol flowing through him was allowing him to loosen up, to see Granger better than he ever had before.

She didn't struggle, he couldn't hurt her, but that didn't mean that she wasn't anxious as all hell. She could do nothing but stare up at him. His features were curiously unguarded, and try as she might, she couldn't help but drink that in.

His breath beat down on her face and the Fire Whiskey mingled with his own natural scent, creating its own particular cocktail.

"Did you dream of anything?" he asked quietly. Hermione could see the intensity in his expression but couldn't understand the meaning behind his words.

She shook her head, answering him. "No."

His lips pulled back into a rough kind of smile, as though it weren't meant to be seen. "No?" he breathed.

She narrowed her eyes. "No." she repeated.

He seemed irritated suddenly, but the crazed smile was still on his face. "No dreams of Harry Potter?" he pursued, " – while you were sleeping in my bed – no dreams of the Golden Boy?"

She tried to jerk back at that, but got the opposite result when he reeled her in, crushing her to his chest. He was suddenly guarded, his expression showing no signs of mirth. Looking down on her intently, he said, "No dreams of me, while you were sleeping in my bed?"

She exhaled noisily through her nose.

"Or is that only something you do in your own bedroom down the hall?"

She craned her head back, trying to get a better look at him, hardly believing what he was insinuating. He was drunk.

She said as much.

He tilted his head to the side, regarding her carefully. She waited while he seemed to be searching her face for some answers. His eyes landed on her lips, and she closed her mouth reflexively. "I think you may be right," he said finally.

Releasing her shoulders, he turned his back on her. "Get out," he said firmly. "And drink that damned potion. You were foolish enough to get clawed by a werewolf, and stupid enough to not realize that you needed to make yourself an antidote for the dark magic imbedded in his nails."

She inhaled sharply. He was right of course. Her hand flew up to tentatively touch the mark on the side of her face. She didn't need to see it to know that it was gruesome looking, infecting the skin around it, and poisoning her system. Malfoy had gotten her the potion in time to stop any permanent damage, but she was suddenly suspicious of both his motives and means.

Malfoy turned back to her. "Didn't I tell you to leave? Are you deaf as well as dumb?" His anger was elevating, but he couldn't fathom why her hesitation to drink his potion bothered him so much. Perhaps it was all of the trouble he had gone through to get the key ingredient – a nice little piece of Fenrir himself.

"How do I know it really is what you say it is? And where did you get it from?"

He glared at her, exhaling heavily. "You won't know for sure what it is until you drink it, will you?" he ground out. "And as for where I got it, I brewed it myself." He gestured to his body, the torn and bloody clothes. "Isn't that obvious?"

Her mouth snapped shut at that concession. It made sense. The torn clothes, the bloody hands as though he had to fight someone – which he most likely had, if he really had brewed her the antidote.

But the thing that resounded through her mind, the unanswered question that she was sure he could see plainly through her expression, was: Why?

Why risk himself? Was it because of the Vow? Was it because he felt some sort of obligation towards her? He must have known that she'd figure it out sooner or later – she was resourceful, she was fully capable of brewing it herself, and who knows, maybe there was some of his hair left on the clothes that she wore last night.

She almost flinched at that thought. Her shredded clothes that were discarded in favor of Harry's. Who knew where they were at.

Perhaps he realized this.

Her eyes reluctantly landed back on Malfoy, his anticipatory stance was hostile, and completely understandable. She swallowed thickly, the word that she felt obliged to utter was not making an easy ascent up her throat. Malfoy narrowed her eyes as she mumbled something unintelligibly, before flushing furiously.

"What?" he barked, fully expecting a reprimand of some sort, despite all of his efforts.

Hermione shuffled back and forth for a few moments, her left hand coming up to tangle itself in her hair. She held up the bottle with the potion inside of it and shook it slightly. "I said, 'thanks.'"

Malfoy jerked as though he'd been punched, and Hermione turned abruptly on her heel, making a hasty retreat toward his still-open bedroom door.

Malfoy collected his thoughts after a few disorientating seconds. As though he couldn't stand the idea of them parting on her terms, he shouted, "Zabini and Nott will be over for dinner tonight. I expect you to be here and well mannered."

Hermione's steps faltered, before she nodded quickly and picked up her pace, even stopping to slam the door to his room on her way out. Seemed the courteous thing to do.

Malfoy stood, staring dumbly at the door that she had just left through for moments longer than he would be willing to admit. He blamed the alcohol.

But it wasn't her hesitation there at the end that managed to capture his interest. It was her reluctance and irritation at the mention of her dreams that piqued his curiosity once again. Just like the night when he had visited her in her home, to find her dreaming of _both_ he and Potter. She could deny it all she wanted.

But he knew he saw the truth filter over her face. The recognition. He had simply taken a shot in the dark, and learned far more about Granger than he thought possible. She may not have said it aloud, but her eyes confirmed it for him. She dreamed about him at night. But that didn't satisfy his curiosity. In fact, now he burned with the unwitting need to know exactly _what_ she dreamed about him. Luckily for him, he was well versed in _Legilimency_. And it was going to be dead useful in this instance, that he was sure of.

* * *

AN: So, certainly not super exciting, but it's getting there. The next chapter is the one I'm excited for. There will be many appearances, and some questions answers, but that inevitably leads to more questions, doesn't it? And this chapter, like the last one is un-BETA read, so all mistakes are mine, and if you feel so inclined, point them out for me. Now realistically speaking, the next chapter will be out in about a month. I'm hoping sooner, but it seems like that's the best I can do at the moment. Let me know what you think of this chapter, I'd be pleased to know. Gripes are more than welcome, as are questions about the story in general. It's kind of a long fic, and with such infrequent updating, I know it might be hard to understand every little detail - even I have to go back and re-read items, and it's my own dam story! So if there's something that you can't remember, and would like me to clarify, just let me know, that way you don't have to go searching through old chapters to clear up some sort of confusion. Thanks for reading! And I hope you're still enjoying it as much as I am.

Jess


	12. Count the Stars and Dim the Lights

AN: shorter than normal, but I think you'll enjoy it nonetheless. For some reason, I seem to have adopted the need to make each chapter insanely long. Quite a bit was cut out, and the rest will open the next chapter.

* * *

**Simply Neurotic**

**Chapter Twelve**

**Count the Stars and Dim the Lights **

He woke up, with that dim, but persistent feeling that he was forgetting something. His eyes fluttered open and stared at the ceiling above him, his mind consciously chasing after, _something._

Draco frowned after a few moments and blinked a couple of times, his attention re-directed to one of his bedroom windows. Frown turning to scowl, he realized he must have slept much longer than intended.

"Damn it," he whispered, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. His thoughts, as they did so often as of recently, turned to Granger. But just as quickly, he banished them from his mind. She was a needless distraction at the moment.

Judging by the light outside, it was early evening, perhaps even time for dinner. Nott and Zabini, if they weren't already here, would arrive soon enough.

The headache he had expected after his drinking earlier that morning, mercifully did not appear. He had downed three more shots after Granger left, in an attempt to drown his own thoughts. And it worked – for a bit. Sleep had taken over though, allowing his body to heal and the soreness to settle.

Running a hand through his hair, he was suddenly grateful that he had taken a shower earlier before collapsing into bed. It seemed he might not have time for one right now. He quickly dressed, his thoughts heavy. But the tingling in his fingertips of his right hand began to override any errant thoughts. He smirked to himself, the feeling was constantly there, of course. That's how the magic worked, once it was cast, it couldn't simply be undone.

His father was his most valuable - and accurate - resource when it came to dark magic, and when he had informed Draco that the Vow could be used as a literal connection between he and Hermione, he hardly hesitated to cast the necessary spell. Incredibly powerful, and dead accurate, it would always lead him straight to her. A tug, push, and pull that originated in his fingers, and traveled farther up towards the Vow's twisting scar. It was persistent. Even now. And once he chose to acknowledge it, it would grow in intensity. The farther away she was, the more insistent it became. Nearly painful, so that her close proximity was the only thing to soothe it.

Which meant that the dull pulsing in his hand indicated she was still here.

Interesting.

* * *

If she were being truthful with herself, Hermione would admit to the fact that sitting there, reading all manner of books on dark magic, wasn't simply for the benefit of her ongoing mission with Malfoy.

The truth of the matter, was that she found them utterly fascinating. Her love for knowledge, as she found out that day, didn't stop suddenly when the lines blurred between what was acceptable and what was not.

So that was how she spent the last eight hours – buried under book after book. Priceless artifacts, that she was sure could only be found in Malfoy manor itself. And she knew this to be true, simply because she had come to find that many of the ancient tomes her fingers chanced upon there on the shelves, were the very ones she had searched for long and hard during her times with the Order, researching antidotes and counter-charms for the more unforgiving spells that had the misfortune of being used upon the people who fought by her side.

So, the opportunity to gain their priceless knowledge kept her cooped up between the two narrow aisles, without thought of food or rest – or anything else for that matter.

And there was something else that nagged at her, low below the surface of her thoughts.

_She still had no idea how to get passed her Vow with Malfoy._

She had vowed her allegiance to the man, albeit only as soon as they were married. But waking up that morning, and finding herself locked in his bedchambers had reminded her of exactly how close they were to that moment. Their wedding date was little more than eight days away, and she suddenly felt the pressure to do the impossible.

To betray her Vow, without getting herself killed.

But for Hermione Granger, nothing was impossible and she was willing to use whatever means necessary to get the information she needed.

Long gone were the days when she would have scoffed at the notion of using dark magic to achieve her means. These days, she was hardly above anything, if it meant bringing an end to this bitter, fruitless war.

That thought made her pause. Would she really? What barriers was she willing to break – what sacrifice was she willing to pay? And when would it be enough?

Hermione stopped for a moment, putting _Power and the Dark Arts _to the side. She rubbed the bridge of her nose gingerly. She frowned darkly. There was no denying that she had done things – things that she might have never considered when she was younger, in the name of their cause.

And the thought that had been following her around for the last few days, was, _who was she_?

_Who was Hermione Granger?_

And it wasn't some silly, shallow question. She _truly _wondered at times, who she had become. She knew who she used to be, but recently she had begun to wonder at where that person had gone. The pure fury that she felt the night before when she destroyed Malfoy's study was something out of a story of fiction – it wasn't her. Or at least, it wasn't who she'd like to think she was.

But the more she was able to pick apart her own actions, the less she liked what she was seeing.

Battling a psychopath was sure to change a person – but she really couldn't blame that entirely on Voldemort. She had adapted to her new environment, changed so that she could survive, and give others the opportunity to do the same.

And sure, she'd never personally killed someone, but she was fully aware that her actions had, at least in some cases, led to the untimely demise of her enemies.

She frowned as she looked past the end of the aisle of books. She wasn't sure if she could go back to the person that she had been, before all of this had occurred. Wasn't sure if she would even be capable of that, considering everything she had seen and been forced to endured.

She cocked her head to the side. A small noise caught her attention, before a figure stepped out of the shadows and into her line of sight at the end of the aisle.

Hermione jerked, her hand coming to grip her wand in her pocket.

Theodore Nott.

What an unpleasant surprise.

Hermione stood slowly as the man took a few steps towards her, either unaware of the fact that she was gripping her wand tightly in her hand, or not caring that she did.

When he was within a meter of her, she finally found her voice. "Stop right there."

He did as she asked and leaned casually against the side of the bookcase on his left, sliding his hands into his pockets.

Hermione regarded him suspiciously. "What are you doing here?" she asked finally, after the tense silence began to eat away at her.

Theo shrugged lightly, a friendly smile on his face. "Dinner's ready."

He must have sensed her irritation at the statement because he continued. "Lucius wasn't sure where you were, so I offered to come fetch you." There was a small paused, followed by, "And I guessed correctly that you'd be stashed away in the library."

He seemed to think that was enough explanation, as he smiled at her. His expression was friendly, unobtrusive, but Hermione knew better.

"And what of Draco," she asked. "Where is he?"

"Still asleep as far as I know. But that was when I sought him out when I first arrived, well over an hour ago," he offered. "I'm sure Lucius would have sent for an elf to wake him by now. He had a rough time last night."

Hermione nodded slowly. "I saw."

Yes, she certainly had seen the outcome of his late night activities. But she began to wonder once more about the nature of Nott's relationship with Malfoy. Had he perhaps been there last night when Draco was off procuring the ingredients for the antidote for her?

Her eyes traveled over his exposed neck and forearms, realizing that even if he had, any wounds he might have gotten from their late night adventure, surely would have been healed away by now.

Hermione nodded her head again, more to herself than anything else.

Theodore was silent once more as he watched her, and that unnerving feeling was settling in her stomach quite rapidly.

But he had always made her feel this way. Theodore Nott had always set her on the edge of her seat. He was cunning in a way that Draco could never comprehend, and devastatingly intelligent. Observant and thorough, he was the exact opposite of Draco, who was blatant in every action he carried out. So while Malfoy was more likely to kick in your door, and use his brute strength and skill to destroy you, Theodore Nott would be silent and stealthy – waiting until you were asleep and vulnerable before he snuck into your bed and dealt the last blow.

They were two different brands of dangerous, in other words, but both she was well acquainted with. And unfortunately, she was ill equipped to handle them both at the same time.

She shifted her weight between her two feet, feeling both anxious, and oddly self-conscious. She wondered what he was playing at, but his expression gave no hint of what was on his mind.

She frowned mildly, becoming more and more agitated by his calm, easy smile.

"Marrying Draco?" he finally said, "Do you really think that's a good idea?"

Hermione's face contorted into a grimace. "What in the bloody hell does that have to do with you?" she snapped, confused and irritated by the question.

Theodore cocked his head to the side, his smile was gone, replaced by an expression she had learned long ago to mean he was _displeased_.

She glared openly at him, making certain he realized she was holding her wand.

His glance down to her right fist told her that he was in fact aware of that. He glanced around her to the books that were strewn on the floor around the chair she had been sitting in.

Hermione fidgeted lightly, feeling embarrassed for some reason that he should know what she was reading. Or more importantly, that he would see she was reading dark arts material. The inane urge to offer an explanation struck her, but she swallowed it down forcefully.

She owed no one an explanation, least of all Theodore Nott.

His eyes seemed to linger on the large book closest to her on the arm of the chair. _Power and the Dark Arts._

She shifted uncomfortably.

His eyes were on her once more. He seemed thoughtful, and it was his next statement that blew her away.

"I offered you that once, you remember?"

It was as though she could feel the color draining from her face. The words echoed through her mind, rattling the chains on old memories that had long ago been shut away.

She could feel the old desperation that she associated with him rise to the surface, and she began to visibly shake.

Her knuckles were white from the grip she had on her wand, and she raised it slowly, pointed threateningly at his chest.

Her next words died in her throat however, when she caught some movement out of the corner of her eye.

"_Malfoy_."

His expression was blank, but even from this distance she could see the tension in his body.

_Had he heard?_ Had he heard the damning words that Theodore Nott had uttered? Would he be able to connect the pieces and expose her secret?

She could only hope that he had _just_ appeared at the end of the aisle they were down, but she feared that wasn't the case.

Theo's eyes were downcast as she regarded him, her wand hand had since fallen and hung limply at her side. But then his eyes darted up to capture hers, and there was an intense look simmering underneath the surface. Something she had never seen there before.

She felt a deep, terrifying fear sweep through her as she realized she simply didn't know what he was going to do next.

His left hand came up slowly, his gaze leaving hers as his hand swept over the spines of numerous titles, pausing a few times, before he settled on a slim volume. Bringing it down in front of him, he stared at the cover for a moment.

Hermione watched carefully as he pulled something swiftly and discretely out of his pocket. A piece of paper.

Approaching her slowly, he slipped the paper inside the book, before handing it gently to her, that intense look still on his face.

"This is the book you were looking for," he said, before turning around and walking silently passed Malfoy, who had watched the exchange from a distance, and Hermione hoped, had not seen the letter enter the book.

There was a long, tense silence between her and Malfoy as they listened to Nott's retreating footsteps.

Hermione simply stared down at the book in her hands, _To Bewitch the Mind and Ensnare the Senses._

Why did that sound so familiar?

She was shaken from her musings when the door to the library closed, leaving the sound to echo through the large room.

Hermione looked up to find that Malfoy was still standing at the edge of the aisle, watching her with a peculiar expression. She smiled lightly, remembering their shaky truce and trying to play her part. But her mind was still a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. Above all though, was the nearly debilitating need to open the book to read what it was Theo had put inside.

_Why_ that was so important to her, she couldn't fathom. The right thing to do would be to burn the parchment and leave it at that. But she knew there was no chance she'd even come close to doing so. She was a glutton for punishment, and there was no denying that her interest had been captured.

She began the slow walk towards Malfoy. "Dinner's ready," she said quietly, as though to explain where she was headed. Or maybe to explain why Theodore had been there to begin with. Either way, she avoided his gaze, already able to feel it burning into her as she passed by him.

Clutching the book tightly to her chest, she adopted a quick pace as she made her way to the exit, Malfoy's footsteps echoing loudly – and deliberately – behind her.

She wanted to sigh in relief as her hand came upon the knob to the door, before she yanked it towards her, only to find it being shoved roughly shut.

She let out a shuddering breath, not yet willing to turn around. But she could feel him there behind her, nearly leaning against her body, as his hand braced against the solid oak door. She tensed slightly as she felt his warm breath wash over the back of her neck. Hanging her head for a moment, she felt a slight irritation settle in.

"Must you always do that?" she asked quietly, shaking her head before she turned around in the small space allowed her.

Draco smirked down at her, leaning much to close. She could see the amusement written all over his face, but it was spiteful and double edged.

"Do what?" he asked quietly, searching her face once more for an easy answer to all of his questions.

Hermione grinned slowly. "You act the part of a brute sometimes, Draco Malfoy. I think you delight in the fact that you're so much larger than me."

Malfoy laughed loudly at that.

And Hermione simply cocked her head and licked her lips. It was a front of course, all this bravado. Because inside, she was terrified. Terrified that he had perhaps seen the paper Theo had put in the book – terrified that even if he hadn't, her hammering heart was going to give her away. Terrified that he had heard that last little jab, the words that echoed through her head even now . . .

_I offered you that once . . . _

Because Malfoy was an incredibly devious man himself, and she feared that he would take a statement like that and piece it together with other little scraps of information, and together, he'd have a map of her single greatest fear – of her most guarded secret.

He pulled her from her musings suddenly, "Is that what you think?" he asked softly, almost gently.

Hermione exhaled heavily, she didn't like the look on his face, the almost challenging glint in his eye.

She studied him, the calm breathing, the way he leaned with one palm supporting himself next to her unnecessarily – as though she'd be able to get away from him otherwise.

Malfoy seemed to tire of the staring match, and his eyes darted to the side of her face. The reddish mark from her run-in with Fenrir was hardly visible, thanks to his antidote.

"You took the potion," he commented dryly, running the back of his hand over the skin on her cheek softly. Hermione clenched her jaw, willing herself to not jerk away. "That implies a certain amount of trust," he added.

Hermione watched his careful gaze, studiously examining her marred cheek.

There was a pause.

"Yes, well I suppose it does." She swatted his hand away from her face in an irritated manner. "Isn't that what we're working on here?" she said. "Trust?"

His eyes snapped back to hers, a thoughtful look on his face. He considered her for a moment.

"Yes, it certainly seems like that's the case."

Hermione nodded her head curtly, satisfied with his response and eager to get some distance between them. All this talk of trust, and one of his closest mates had just given her a secret message tucked into a book on dark magic.

It was laughable really, if only this weren't her life she was contemplating.

Maybe at some point she'd be able to see the humor of it, but at the moment, _in_ the moment, there was nothing funny about it whatsoever.

"Right, dinner then," she said finally, meaning to turn and leave.

Malfoy simply laughed lightly, a deep sound that reverberated through her body.

Hermione tensed, caught turned to her side between him and the door.

"While we're on the subject of _trust_," Malfoy said softly. "I don't like the idea of you and Theo spending time alone."

A tense breath later, and Hermione had yet to respond. She could see him out of the corner of her eye, watching her for a reaction. She nodded her head slowly. "It's not as though I planned it that way, he simply showed up while I was reading."

Malfoy's small grin turned into a tight frown. "I'm sure he did."

Hermione finally turned fully around to face him once more. "And what," she asked, "is that suppose to mean?"

Malfoy watched as the fire turned on in her eyes, a call of challenge, and he was always ready to take her up on it. His other hand came down onto the door next to her, effectively caging her in. She didn't seem too pleased with the position, as she flashed him a taunting grin, teeth bared.

"It means," he enunciated slowly, as though she weren't intelligent enough to follow, "that I don't approve of it, no matter what the reason."

Hermione bristled at that. "Oh?" she asked, archly, one brow raised. "My, my – and I certainly wouldn't want to do anything that _Draco Malfoy_ doesn't _approve_ of, would I?

Malfoy flashed her a contemptuous smile. "Eager for a repeat of that last time you two were caught together alone?" he asked dangerously, leaning down to whisper the words in her face.

"You don't know anything about that," she whispered tensely, waiting for the angry trembling to stop.

"Don't I?" Draco said, a lazy, feral smirk tugging his lips back.

Hermione watched him with uncertainly, fearing whatever he might say next. But now that he'd opened that door, she needed him to continue. She couldn't go on with the uncertainty, now that he'd planted the idea in her head – the insidious seed of doubt.

That ever present urge to lash out at him – hurt him bodily, was clawing at her once more. And she could do it – she could hurt him, if she was quick enough, if she was vicious enough, because the Vow didn't extend that particular stipulation to her. He might not be able to cause _her _harm, but there was nothing in there that said _she _couldn't attempt to beat him into a bloody pulp.

Malfoy however, seemed to recognize her intent before she had consciously decided on it herself. Giving her a taunting smile and a jerk of his head, he beckoned her to try.

Again the thought struck her, _who is Hermione Granger?_

She switched gears with alarming proficiency. A demure sort of smile crept onto her face, and she watched as the uncertainty flickered across Malfoy's features.

"You don't know a thing," she whispered softly, slowly leaning towards him. She could see the tension in his body build, and she knew the urge to throw her away from him must have been intense.

With all his poking and prodding – his experimentation with her actions and reactions, this was certainly not something he had expected.

She was turning the tables on him, crowding his space and turning an already tense situation into a proverbial time bomb.

Her smile was soft, gentle, belying the intense look in her eye. A small hand snaked around his ribs to hook up to his shoulder, pulling him closer to her, and leading them the short distance back up against the wooden door. Malfoy clenched his jaw, working through her motives, as he watched the bemusement and maliciousness vie for control in her eyes.

She gave one last, slow jerk and pulled him flush against her – her chest rising rapidly against his, the only indication that what she was doing was causing her discomfort.

_Such an actress. Brilliant performance, really._

What he wouldn't give to take a peek inside her head at that moment, her lips drawn into a secretive smile, parted slightly, her breath flowing over his neck.

Malfoy tried for indifference, but couldn't fight the utter bewilderment at her actions.

"So," she whispered. "You were saying?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at her, studying the coy look she was affecting for him.

Hermione cocked her head to the side when he was silent for a moment too long. Uncharacteristically staying his hand from regaling her with his utter brilliance and conniving nature.

He had his smooth Malfoy façade in place, but she could see the distrustful look he tried to hide.

She licked her lips suddenly, coming to the conclusion that she liked this particular game – it wasn't often she left him at a loss for words. Her own inner champion was cheering at this immodest victory.

Her hand that was still resting on his back, needlessly holding him to her, began to rub in slow encouraging circles, mocking, though she didn't know if he picked up on that.

His eyes narrowed dangerously, and his lips pulled into an arrogant smirk. "I don't think you want to play this game with me, Granger," he said. "You stand to lose quite a bit more than you could gain."

Hermione smiled at him brilliantly, "Who says I'm playing a game?"

Malfoy laughed, a bark of true humor. Looking back down at her after a moment, he found that she seemed unaffected. He settled in, resting his forearms against the door on either side of her, his head coming to rest close to hers, his face angled closely so that she had to strain slightly to look up at him. Her heartbeat seemed to be thrumming wildly against his own chest, and he smiled down at her.

Finally, he said, "As I recall, your last meeting with Theo left you with three pints of blood less than when you started."

There was a slight twitch to her lips.

His eyes danced along her features, and she finally dropped her eyes from his gaze, settling on his lips instead.

"You were on an _Open Management _mission when things went bad for you," he said softly. His eyes lingered on her chest which was heaving lightly under her thin shirt. He brought his hand up, and placed two fingers against her – a few inches below the collar bone on her left side.

She started, as though his fingers had electrocuted her, the fury in his eyes as she glared up at him alarming.

"I imagine that's about where the scar is," he said, his face oddly devoid of emotion, his eyes watching his own hand instead of her face. "Took you four weeks to recover, although they said there wasn't just physical damage, but also psychological _distress_."

He couldn't help but wonder if that was the result of finally being outsmarted by someone else - or of it was something else entirely. A blow to her ego? Or something more?

His lips turned down into a frown. "As I recall, you were operating missions that targeted Theo for about six months, until your unfortunate little accident." Hermione was quite still as she listened to him, waiting with baited breath for him to condemn her – to reveal her secret. But it wasn't to come.

"Quite the stir about that mission actually – I know that Minister Theodora Tudor was actually directly involved at some point." His eyes finally flashed up to hers, only to find that they had slid shut. "There was quite the outrage. Suspicious activity on all sides, and there you were, stuck in the middle of it. Ms. Tudor had to pay quite a few people to keep that one from escalating, didn't she?"

Hermione's lips slipped back into an easy smile. Of course he knew – he must have contacts at the Ministry – access to files that were supposed to be confidential. That was the only explanation for how he would know so much. Nott probably supplied him with some details, undoubtedly. But the rest – only documented in Auror files back at the Ministry.

_The bastard._

Thinking back to the files she had pulled on him when she was still considering this proposal, she realized he was probably fully aware of everything they had on him. He most likely knew his own surveillance file better than anyone.

She exhaled heavily. This was okay. Really.

He had revealed more than she could have hoped, and in a sense, he had just showed her his cards. She knew what he was capable of – and better still, was that her secret was safe. For the time being, anyways. Because the things that you try your hardest to bury, always seem to find their way to the surface.

There was no way he'd be able to look at her right now if that weren't the case – there's no way he wouldn't use that against her if he was even the smallest bit aware of the true nature of her relationship with Theodore Nott.

Her eyes flashed open, her hand that was clenching his back loosened, her fingers once more settling into smooth rhythm – rubbing and alternating between soft touches, and firm kneading. She smiled once more, her nerves beginning to calm, her chest heaving less dramatically against his own.

Hermione settled back, resting her head against the solid wooden door, and let her eyes wander all over him – as he was waiting in anticipation for her next move. Most likely waiting for her to deny it all.

"Well," she said, grinning, "aren't you the clever one."

Malfoy cocked his head at her, his face devoid of emotion.

"While this has been an interesting chat, I've got to say, Malfoy, I'm quite hungry, how about you?"

He frowned at her cool demeanor. "The discussion isn't over until I say it is," he said with a tinge of irritation.

Hermione simply laughed lightly. "Oh, my apologies _Lord Malfoy_," she said with extra pomp, "please, feel free to dismiss me yourself."

Malfoy's lip curled into a slow smirk. "You may want to get used to calling me that, Granger. Because that's exactly right – _Lord Malfoy_."

Hermione scoffed. "Shall I bow and kiss your feet as well, when you're my husband?" she jested, raising an eyebrow.

Malfoy grabbed a hold of her jaw in one hand and gave her a small shake. "You really aren't aware of what you've agreed to, do you?" he said, taking a special delight in the way her face filled with reluctant doubt. "Marrying a Malfoy?"

Hermione jerked in his grip, feeling alarm course through her. What in the bloody hell was he referring to? She felt her body become tense against his.

His laugh bellowed through her, "Oh by the gods, you naive girl." Flashing her a smile that was predatory in nature, he moved away from her and gestured to the door with a flourish.

Hermione didn't need to be told twice, gripping the doorknob, she wrenched it open, trying to not make her pace seem agitated, but wanting nothing more than to get away from the man stalking behind her every step, his deep baritone laughter shaking through her, and the dining room never seemed as far as it did in those torturous moments.

And Malfoy, kept hearing Nott's parting words ring through his head, fueling his distrust and anger.

_I offered you that once . . ._

* * *

So, confusing at all? I hope not. Let me know so I can edit it, or simply clarify. I hope this chapter answers some questions for people. As you may have guessed by now, the bulk of this story occurs before the actual wedding - the event itself is still about four or five chapters out, but that's when it turns into a whole new game.

As for next chapter, dinner with the Malfoy's, a bit of the lovely Ms. Tudor, and Ron makes his way back into the scene. But what of Harry and Viktor and Rita, you ask? Well, they'll get their part soon enough. :)

I'd like to say once again how unbelievably grateful I am for the constant support and love I've gotten for this story - it's truly wonderful. It makes my entire week, when I get such thoughtful reviews. As always, feedback is much appreciated, and con crit is adored. This chapter was un- BETA read, so it's sure to have mistakes somewhere.

Jess


	13. A Mild Symphony of the Heart

AN: Alright all, sorry for the slight delay, but I think I should get some brownie points for getting this out in only two weeks instead of four – right? Right?

* * *

**Simply Neurotic**

**Chapter Thirteen**

**A Mild Symphony of the Heart **

"Not going to eat, is that it?" Malfoy asked suddenly.

Hermione jerked slightly, her fork scrapping against the bottom of her plate – and not for the first time that night.

Lucius sent her another scathing look.

She looked around briefly, noting that the rest of them had indeed finished off their salads as she had lost herself in her thoughts. She had yet to take a bite from the plate, instead pushing the food around in a disinterested manner.

She gave a small smile, looking at Draco who was predictably watching her closely. "Not really all that hungry." And as though her stomach knew what she had just said, it gave a particularly violent twist in her body. She was famished, but she'd rather eat dragon shit – and that, was putting it mildly.

Malfoy scoffed. "I suppose the food isn't to your liking," he taunted lightly, an equally non-threatening smirk playing around the edges of his mouth. It seemed as though Malfoy and she had come to a silent understanding – and that was the importance of _appearing_ as though they were getting along – even if that couldn't have been farther from the truth. And what better way to practice their parts, than in the company of family and friends?

Well, _his_ family and friends, but that distinction hardly seemed to matter.

Either way, it appeared her use of the word _trust _had jarred something in him, as he had been acting oddly since they entered the dining room.

Hermione shook her head lightly. "No, I'm truly just not hungry."

Draco's smile was wiped from his face suddenly, and Hermione felt hers falter as well. He snapped his fingers, and Twink appeared at his side, standing at the corner of the table between her and Draco.

Hermione diverted her eyes from the sullen creature, whose rags seemed indecently frayed and who trembled something awful as she bowed before Draco.

"Master, what is it yous needs of Twink?" it asked, between quivering lips.

Hermione could feel the weight of Draco's gaze, but she stared determinedly at the plate in front of her.

"It seems as though Miss Granger here," he said, gesturing towards her, "feels that her salad is not to her liking."

Hermione clenched her jaw, and could see from the corner of her eye the way the poor creature wrung its hands in front of it, tottering from left foot to right.

"Oh," was all is said, before turning to look at her.

Hermione couldn't bare it. Swallowing heavily, she said, "I'm simply not hungry."

"You said earlier in the library that you _were_ in fact hungry. You haven't eaten all day, surely it must be that something is wrong with your food." Draco countered.

Hermione could feel the rise of the color to her cheeks, as Twink looked back and forth between her and Draco, unsure of what to do, and frightened to act without being told explicitly. Hermione didn't need to ask how he knew she hadn't eaten all day.

Draco simply _knew_ these things. And it was a cowardly thing to use the house elf against her to get what he wanted. It was a decidedly _Malfoy_ thing to do.

The creature pulled pitifully on her ears. "Can Twink get the Miss something else?" It looked to Malfoy to see if it had done the correct thing in asking.

Hermione met Draco's gaze, expecting to see a mocking look, but found none. He was unreasonably calm, and she could see the idle threat in his gaze. She grabbed for her fork almost savagely and stabbed a bit of cucumber and lettuce, before bringing it in front of her face. She turned to look at the house elf quickly, smiling at it softly, "This will do, thank you. I'm sure it will be lovely, Twink."

The salad crunched audibly in her mouth and she felt irritatingly self-conscious as all of the people present stared at her, waiting perhaps.

That fear that had stayed her hand from eating or drinking anything up until this point was suddenly back full force. A quick look around the room confirmed that they were in fact watching her with various expressions, but besides the nasty look Zabini had fixed her with since the start of the night, no one looked particularly murderous.

But that did little to soothe her anxiousness.

As she swallowed, she could have sworn she saw everyone relax marginally, but her mind liked to play these silly little paranoid games with her so she couldn't be sure.

She flashed the house elf a brilliant smile, before she turned it down a notch and met Malfoy's watchful eyes.

"Delicious," she said extravagantly, gesturing pointedly to her plate.

Twink jerked next to her, still tugging forlornly at her ears, nearly having wrapped them around her own eyes. Her fearful gaze mediated between Hermione and Draco.

"And what of your drink?" Draco asked.

Hermione stared at the glass for a moment before giving him a hesitant look. It sloshed around in the glass as she brought it to her lips. Sniffing it delicately, she couldn't detect anything out of the ordinary. But that meant precious little. She took a mouthful. The wine was sweet and poignant, naturally, and she once again had that sinking feeling in her stomach.

Malfoy however, seemed satisfied, and before she had even finished swallowing her mouthful of the red liquid, he turned to Twink. "Bring out the next course."

The house elf popped out of sight, but not before shooting Hermione a nasty look.

Blaise had apparently caught it too. "Seems like the little beast doesn't like you there, Granger," he laughed, breaking his dark scowl for the first time that night. "Dare I say, it must know you're a muggle-born."

No, she hardly thought that was the reason. And Draco should know perfectly well why the creature was so hateful towards her – that was his intent after all, when he had set out to beat Garvin for leaving her unattended that first night she was at the manor. He aimed to have them hate her – blame her for the treatment the older house elf received.

He wanted a guarantee that they'd never lift a finger to help her against him again.

_They would never trust her_.

Draco's heated gaze told her that he was thinking the same thing, that, and the small curl of his lips into a delighted smile.

Hermione's lips parted, as though she were going to call him out on his cruel behavior. She didn't have the chance to say a thing however, as dinner suddenly arrived in front of them.

Hermione instead directed her glare at her plate. Her stomach gave another violent lurch in her body. If she had been asked, what the one thing she absolutely never wanted to see on her plate again was, she would have responded with a definite answer of: veal.

So naturally, that was what was sitting, all dressed up in sauces and creams in front of her.

Draco had confirmed it only a moment ago with some well placed words to his father across the table.

She might just vomit.

Dinner was slated to be an awkward affair.

* * *

Ron ducked and rolled behind a boulder, the blast of purple light ricocheting and taking a corner of the stone with it. His breaths were ragged and labored as he hunched on the wet grass trying to gather his wits about him.

This wasn't right.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be – wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

The idea that he was alone in this, frightened him – truly.

Hermione was gone – lost to the enemy. She just didn't realize it yet. But she was, buried deep in the bowels of hell, and what really fired him up, was the fact that she had gone willingly. She had chosen to go – to Malfoy of all bloody people.

And Harry – blast, what of Harry? Ron didn't know his best friend anymore. Didn't recognize him when he looked at him. All of the secrets and the lies. All of the sneaking around.

He was off on some secret sort of mission at the moment. So secret in fact, that for once, Ron had no idea what he was doing. Had no idea what – or _who_ he was risking.

An explosion sounded not far from his right, and Ron looked up to see Viktor Krum kneeling close by, a fierce look on his face. The blast of another spell lit up the area, and a demented expression overcame Krum's features, a grim determination had set in.

Ron steeled himself. There was still a battle going on. And this time, they were decidedly on the losing side.

It was no longer a suspicion – no longer a question. There was a traitor in their midst.

That was the only thing that could explain why the Death Eaters had known where to wait.

A roar bellowed through the air, and Ron jumped to his knees, stealing a quick look around the corner of the boulder he was hiding against.

Krum looked over the distance to him, and a slow smile bared his teeth.

Ron shook his head to tell him _no_ – to tell him to not do anything rash – but the smaller Bulgarian man was mental.

Something must have clicked in his head when Hermione agreed to marry Malfoy – because he was acting strange, taking unnecessary risks.

He was plain suicidal.

Krum took two visible breaths before dashing forward, a plethora of curses spewing from his mouth – all tactile ones, never meant to kill, as was their way.

Ron cursed, and followed the fool-hardy man.

The field was lit up with spells, the residue of duels clinging to the air. Residual magic buzzed and resonated through the night, leaving a heavy, hallow feeling to settle over them.

His foot twisted to the side – something told him to dart to the right, and as he did, a green surge of magic lashed out beside him.

A killing curse.

They weren't holding anything back tonight.

He snarled, and set his gaze on the back of Krum's robes up ahead. He had made it through the area unscathed, but Ron wondered if he'd be lucky to make it through the night with the way he pressed his luck.

A flurry of spells left his lips as he caught sight of a group of Death Eaters to his left, hiding in the tall grass.

The sky lit up suddenly and he could hear the shouting and panicked calls of his fellow Order members.

And in all of this, where were the Aurors? Why weren't they here yet?

Something wasn't right.

But he had little time to consider that, because he had attracted the furious attention of a Death Eater.

Left, right, left, left.

They dueled, Ron's face set in determination and his body moving deftly from side to side.

He may not have the magical power that Harry possessed – nor the cunning that Hermione exhibited, but he was quick, and when you're dodging death and destruction, sometimes that's all you need to stay alive.

But unfortunately for him, he just wasn't fast enough tonight.

The jolt to his left leg sent him to his knees, and a boot smashed into his chin throwing him onto his back.

He rolled, his body tumbling down the hill behind him catching the sticks and rocks as he went.

One last solid smack, and he was flat on his back, stuck in the mud that surrounded the bank of the river.

Ron brought his hand up to his face, as he struggled to give his lungs the air it demanded. A boot smashed into his ribs with enough force to roll him over onto his stomach. A retched sound escaped him, as the pain caught up with his body.

He was wandless. It was lost somewhere on his tumble down the hill.

A deep anger settled into his body as he got up on his elbows, the blood in his mouth oozed out in one long string, attaching itself to the ground below him which seemed blurred and distorted though his gaze at the moment.

The sounds of the battle up on the hill were getting more urgent – more frenzied and desperate.

And they would never think to come looking for him down here – not when they were battling their own problems.

Another vicious blow to his ribs spun him back onto his back, his shoulders aching painfully from landing on a ragged stone.

Ron's gaze found the sky, and he could see, even from here, that there were black streaks painted across the it. Death Eaters, and they were arriving in force.

"Was this the end?" Ron muttered unintelligibly, and the Death Eater leering down at him laughed low, and mockingly.

A feeling of desperation overtook Ron, propelling him onto his knees suddenly, a recklessness bled into him. Perhaps he would steal a bit of brazenness from Krum.

The Death Eater stood over him, his wand held tightly in his hand.

Ron got to his feet, the adrenaline was kicking in and mercifully acting as a balm for his wounds. Bringing his hands up in front of him, he beckoned the Death Eater forward, and settled into a fighting stance.

If he was going out, he wanted it to be on his terms. Not wandless. And not executed without having the opportunity to even put up a fight.

It was his last wish.

He hadn't expected it to work. Death Eaters were ruthless in that sense, and preferred an honor-less kill instead of getting their hands a little bit dirty. So when the smaller man opposite him tucked away his wand and lunged for him, Ron was hardly ready for it.

He dodged to the side, but not before getting hit in the shoulder. He slid in the mud, and barely managed to stay standing, before the Death Eater was lunging for him again.

But Ron was quick, and he was able to adapt to the situation. A jerk to the left, and he avoided a hit to the liver, before dealing his own blow to the Death Eater's gut.

Ron moved back out of striking distance, letting his eyes dance over the man before him. It was impossible to tell who he was dealing with. Not unless he took off his mask - and fat chance there.

Ron took the offensive, aiming for a throat jab, only to miss, his hand cuffing the Death Eater on the shoulder instead, and earned himself a knee to the hip for his trouble.

A quick blow to his nose, and Ron was staggering back, trying to stem the bleeding.

The man stalked around Ron, and they traveled in a close circle, just enough space between them to avoid any reaching blows.

Ron's breath came out in rough drags as the Death Eater regarded him with cold, dull brown eyes. He hardly seemed winded.

Ron lunged forward, but a kick to the thigh sent him staggering back. He wasn't able to keep his balance on the slippery ground, and went tumbling down again. Grabbing at the last moment, he was able to get a hold of the Death Eater's cloak before crashing to the ground. Pulling him down as well, he was able to use his bigger size to pin the man onto the ground.

They thrashed and wrestled, and Ron tried desperately to keep him from reaching his wand, tucked somewhere in the depths of his cloak.

There was a moment of clarity, of renewed resolve, as Ron bashed his hand into the phantom mask of the Death Eater, watching it in a detached manner as it faded away. But that hardly seemed to matter now. His fist pulled back repeatedly as he pummeled the man, who clawed and tried to protect his face with his forearms. Grabbing hastily at a rock near them, Ron didn't hesitate as he brought it down with both hands repeatedly onto the Death Eater's skull.

Ron was capable. Ron was angry and desperate. And Ron was well beyond the point of caring about the pain in his own body - let alone the pain he was inflicting in his unknown opponent.

They all deserved a bloody, painful death.

And although he'd never killed someone before, he was calm in his decision. He was perfectly aware of the way the man's bones crunched under his fists. Perfectly aware of the lack of satisfaction the feeling gave him.

It took him moments longer than it should have to realize that the Death Eater had stopped fighting back – had stopped moaning and screaming, because he was dead. Unrecognizable.

Ron heaved, as he sat on the dead man's chest. He stared at the pulpy mess – the gore, shattered skull and jaw bone that jut up from the ground.

But there was nothing.

No sense of satisfaction. No moment of enlightenment. Nothing but the pain and the weariness that was eating away at him—letting him know that he was still alive.

And that was how Neville Longbottom found him, at the bottom of the hill. Clearheaded and calm, seated on the Death Eater, fists and chest splattered in blood and gore that didn't belong to him.

And laughing. Laughing at the fucking injustice of it all.

* * *

Hermione sat back in her seat, staring at her lap, as the men around her continued on in their droll way – discussing things of little importance or relevance to her. They didn't seem the least bit interested in the fact that she was still there.

And Draco had insisted that she stay for dessert, although she hardly knew when that was supposed to appear.

She let out another soft sigh of irritation.

Spying, or not, she was irritated with their conversations. She wasn't so stupid to think that if they were planning something, that they'd discuss it openly in front of her. Her Vow of allegiance to the Malfoy name wasn't concrete until their wedding day – Draco himself knew that. So they kept it to matters of little consequence, and she endured.

And it might have been manageable, if it weren't for the comments that Zabini let slip every once in a while. Small, snide comments aimed as jabs at her, but she wouldn't allow him the satisfaction of seeing how irrationally frustrated she was with his thinly veiled words.

And worse, was that she had to endure Draco's persistent stare, all while wondering at what was going through Theo's mind.

It was a bloody mess.

She desperately wanted to know what he was thinking – what his aim was, but she couldn't risk raising any of Draco's suspicions with curious glances.

And then there was that book, which even now rested firmly between her thighs under the table.

She craved the chance to open it and read what he had slipped inside, and that made her anxious – and made enduring dinner all the more taxing.

A sudden lull in the conversation had Hermione looking up to watch the others around her. Zabini continued to glare at her across the table, and she couldn't help but think how undignified he looked slouched back in his chair, openly fuming towards her.

Finally fed up and unnerved by the silence, she said, "What is it, Zabini? Out with it."

He sneered at her suddenly and sat forward. There was a tense silence for a moment as he leaned his elbows onto the table in front of him. He looked her over, seemed to be considering something.

She became further unnerved when she saw Draco shift subtly next to her. Alarm bells going on in her head – her gaze danced between the two, and swiftly swept the rest of the room, looking for anything that might tell her what was going on.

It was that damned paranoia – and it was something that would never let her go.

"You know how many innocent people you've destroyed, Granger?" Zabini finally said, his lip curling into a vicious ghost of a smile.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up dramatically. She searched for the words for a moment. Hadn't she heard this rhetoric before? Hadn't this conversation taken place between she and Draco?

She pursed her lips. "I hardly think that the people I've had to deal with over the last few years were innocent, Zabini."

The wizard opposite her scoffed and slumped back into his seat.

"So you've no remorse?" he snarled. "No remorse whatsoever for the people that you and Theodora Tudor have conspired to lock away?"

Hermione bristled at that. The fact that he'd refer to her and Theodora in the same sentence was a brutal blow – not that he realized that.

Or perhaps he did.

"I don't think I know what you're talking about, Zabini," she started as coolly as she could, frowning heavily. "I try to distance myself from the Minister as much as possible. You'd know that if you read the _Daily Prophet_ at all."

Indeed, her articles in the _Prophet _were her own way of waging war against the Minister.

He laughed suddenly. "Funny you should mention that, because I _do_ read the _Prophet_ quite regularly," he shot back. "Your sodding articles are in there almost once a week – every week. Like bloody clockwork."

Hermione frowned and shifted lightly in her seat, fixing him with a look that clearly said she was bored and tired of him stating the obvious.

Zabini sneered. "But it was mercifully free of your rhetoric this morning. Rita Skeeter seems to have found another person of interest in your absence."

His words tripped her up. _Another person of interest? _What in the bloody hell was that supposed to mean?

Her confusion must have registered on her face because his sneer advanced from slightly irritating to plain rude. He seemed to take great delight in knowing something she didn't.

"I take it you didn't read the paper this morning then – nor the evening edition," he said, smoothing out his cloth napkin on his lap.

Hermione's eyes danced over to Draco, who wasn't watching her – but rather, was quite focused on Theo. She frowned, and narrowed her eyes at Zabini. "Alright, I give," she said with a small flourish of her hand. "What was in the _Prophet_ today?"

Zabini seemed to be savoring the moment as he took a deep calming breath and smiled tightly.

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes at his behavior, but she reined in the impulse. Patience, sometimes, was a bitch.

After he seemed to think he delayed the inevitable long enough, Zabini gave a lofty wave of his wand, and the morning edition of the _Prophet_ appeared on the table in front of her.

Hermione sent one last glare Zabini's way before picking up the newspaper and giving the front page the once-over.

Theodora Tudor – no surprise there, and a smaller article tucked into the corner about a forest fire.

_A forest fire?_ her mind echoed. Was it possible? Draco came home last night smelling of what she though was camp-fire smoke - could it be that he was actually there where this forest fire took place? She narrowed her eyes at the paper, a thoughtful expression coming over her features.

But before long, the flashes coming from the main article drew her attention away.

_The Woes of Theodora Tudor,_ it started. It only took a few moments for Hermione to realize what the significance of it was. Viktor Krum – _her_ Viktor Krum had given a rather unflattering interview to Rita Skeeter.

Here eyes raced over the article, disbelievingly. She couldn't help it, her mouth sagged open a little bit at his choice of words. _What was he thinking? _Kingsley was going to literally destroy him for that. Openly attacking the Minister was not something you wanted to take lightly. Not even Hermione would make personal attacks – she stuck strictly to the politics of it all.

But this? This was something else entirely.

She picked through the article, weeding out words and hints, and becoming more irritated – not with Viktor, who was clearly not thinking properly, but with Rita who had better sense than to print something so condemning.

Her anger was swift and resolute. She could only imagine the effect this was having on the moral of the people at large. And it was perilously low at the moment as it was - but to shatter people's faith in the Minister's capabilities? That was dangerous. Dangerous _and _stupid.

Hermione's disgust must have registered quite clearly on her face, because Zabini laughed languidly across the table from her.

"Upset over what he said are you?" he taunted. "Tell me, how close to the truth is he? Is the Minister losing it?"

Hermione merely glared lightly at him for interrupting her thoughts.

He wasn't to be deterred though. "You'd be the best judge of course, since you're so close to her and all." Another wave of his wand and the evening edition of the _Prophet_ slapped resoundingly onto the table in front of her.

Hermione didn't even bother glancing at Zabini as she picked up the paper and skimmed the headlines.

A resurgence in _Open Management _operations.

Her scowl deepened. From the looks of it, things weren't going well. Hermione's eyes scanned over the names of people who had already been rounded up - people that she knew for a fact weren't involved in Voldemort's plans - at least not directly.

It was exactly the type of thing she resented, and _why _she fought so hard against Theodora Tudor.

"What's the matter, Granger?" Zabini jabbed. "I thought you'd be happy. Isn't this what you wanted? Purebloods locked away?" he snapped. "We all know you hate us, but you put a good show on, pretending to be upset about the injustice of it all. We know you're the one who coordinated the raids between the Order and the Minister with her pet Aurors."

Hermione's gaze finally leveled with Zabini. Grinding her jaw, she looked over to Malfoy to find him staring at her, no interest whatsoever registering on his face. No hint that he was going to stop his friend from interrogating her either – not that she had expected it. But they _were_ trying to keep up appearances and all.

Her gaze lingered on his face, until Zabini's panting rage boiled over.

"Well?" he demanded, sitting forward and straight in his seat.

Hermione met his gaze, her own sneer working its way across her features.

"You know nothing, Zabini." She made a move to rise from her heat, but Malfoy's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

Hermione didn't need to try and test his grip – she knew it would hold. His expression was even more telling though – it was almost complacent, as though he were asking her to put up Zabini's riotous mouth. And it was odd, to see that sort of emotion on his face.

She sat back down stiffly after a moment, willing herself to calm down.

Zabini was still bristling but he had a look of victory on his face.

"Go on, lie some more – we all know you're rather good at it. Gryffindor princess, who gallivants around at night, tearing through people's lives, all in the name of some faulty crusade to rid the world of the bad guys – to cleanse the world of the purebloods that have wronged you so – isn't that it?" His fist pounded onto the surface of the table, a nearly desperate look on his face, his words rising with each breath.

Hermione stared at him mildly. "You have no idea the pains I go through to make sure that no one is harmed, Zabini," she granted him in response. "You have no idea – so don't act as though you have all the answers. Don't think that you know me, or understand the way I work."

"Oh?" he said mockingly. "So what you're saying is that you are a _complicated _person, is that it? You're saying that you aren't the simple, overachieving, overly ambitious muggle-born that I went to school at Hogwarts, hmm?"

He was met with a disdainful look.

"The world isn't black and white you know," he spat. "Not all purebloods are out for you muggle-borns just like all muggle-borns surely aren't saints."

"You honestly think I don't know that?" Hermione said. "You _really_ don't know anything, Zabini."

There was a pause as Hermione collected herself.

"I've never been behind the _Open Management_ operations – I've said so in my articles in the _Prophet_."

"You lie!" Blaise surged up from his seat, leaning against the table. "You and Potter and Weasley – the whole lot of you are no better than the Dark Lord's followers."

Hermione shot up from her seat as well. "Don't" she seethed. "Don't you dare attack us for what we do to survive – what we do to help others to do the same."

She saw the stunned look on his face - and the pain, so obvious and easy for her to see. And it was genuine - not the manufactured bullshit that she saw everyday, the lies and the deception.

He was no Death Eater - he was too smart for that, always had been. He was simply guilty by association. And she could see the effect that the war was having on him. It must be hell to see his friends and family picked off one by one by the very people that promised equality, freedom, and the protection of the law. Hermione realized then that she could help ease that pain by saying the words he wanted to hear. She hesitated, but ultimately, the decision had already been made when she saw the desperation in his features.

She brought up a fist to her chest and clenched it tightly. "I'm _sorry,_" she went on, forcing herself to say the words, "for the treatment of your friends, but this is not the way I would have wanted it. It's not the way any of us would have done things. You have only Theodora Tudor to blame for that."

"You got her elected!" he nearly shouted at her.

"And I've regretted it every moment since then," she said, matching his tone, leaving no room for argument. "When I helped her win her campaign, she was a different person."

"What are you saying then? That she used you to get into office?"

"Of course she did," Hermione snapped, and ignored the blow to her ego at that staunch admission. "And don't think she won't use any and all means necessary to get what she wants, Zabini. Make no mistake. She is a cunning, underhanded person."

The silence in the room was painful.

Zabini stood, hunched, but still panting as he regarded Hermione.

Hermione for her part, continued to meet his gaze. No regret at what she said, and no lack of sincerity behind her words.

"But you run missions, then hand over the people that you apprehend to her," Zabini said slowly.

Hermione smiled. Of course he would have knowledge of the way the Order conducted its business with the Ministry. He was Malfoy's friend after all, and there was quite possibly no limit to the reach and depth that they had.

"We do so at our own discretion. We don't, and won't go after people unless we have concrete evidence against them," Hermione said. "That's the only way she was given our help – if her targets were people who are verifiable supporters of Death Eaters."

Zabini gestured lazily to the paper on the table. "And what of that? Dortin? Slengin? Even you must know they aren't supporters of the Dark Lord."

Hermione heaved a sigh. "Yes, well." She looked over to Malfoy. "After the events of last night, I'd say the Minister is going to be hard to say no to right now."

Zabini stood for a few moments longer, eyeing her up and down. Hermione, however, avoided his stare in favor of Malfoy's.

When he finally sat down, she watched him and the way that he seemed considerably less hostile towards her.

Hermione looked around the table and found that everyone else seemed calm and at ease. Lucius was even watching her with a curious expression.

The idea formed in her head then. The idea that she had just undergone a test - a quite possibly passed.

Malfoy snapped his fingers a moment after she took her seat, and Twink appeared next to them again.

"Dessert," he said simply.

The small creature bowed lowly before winking out of existence. She was hardly gone before the plates appeared before them.

Hermione sighed contentedly.

_Dessert . . ._

There was a god after all.

**

* * *

**

Later that evening, in the silence and relative security of her bedroom at Malfoy manor, Hermione opened _To Bewitch the Mind and Ensnare the Senses_ with unsure hands. The note he had placed in there earlier came fluttering out and landed on the floor, propped against her shoe.

Swallowing heavily, she warred with herself.

Theodore Nott was a dangerous man – so common sense would dictate that she burn the letter, especially given their rather violent past.

But that's where her curiosity grappled with her common sense.

Because _why _was he trying to contact her without Draco knowing? And what would he have to say?

_I'm sorry_?

She scoffed at that particular thought – at the sheer insanity of it.

But she already knew the outcome of this. She would open the letter and read the contents, and they would either tear a new hole in her, or give her some sort of false hope.

As it were – the message provided neither.

Instead, what she felt at the words written tidily on the parchment, confused her.

_Your owls are being intercepted. _

_Tomorrow morning, King's Cross. 8am._

_

* * *

_So mainly a bit of exposition, but I think that it wraps everything up nicely. Let me know what you think. Once more, thanks to everyone for the lovely reviews. It makes my day every single time, and I thoroughly enjoy writing something that other people enjoy as well.

So next chapter features Ms. Tudor, Ron, and Harry plus maybe a bit of Rita.

Also next chapter, things will be interesting for our main duo, and I know you'll enjoy it.

So once again, this chapter is un-BETA read - and judging by the way my mind is refusing to focus, I'd bet that there are going to be some mistakes in there. If you'd be so kind as to point those out for me, I'd really appreciate it! Thanks! I'm off to bed now.

And as a shout out for a talented authoress on this site, you guys should definitely check out **Treacherous Darkness.** She's got some great stuff up, and although they're only one-shots, she develops them amazingly well so that they have the scope and emotion of a full short story. (Seriously, what are you waiting for! Go look her up.)

Remember, feedback makes my world go 'round and concrit is always welcome.


	14. Qualitative, My Dear Man

AN: Alright, so let's skip the part when I say 'I'm sorry for being a huge jerk' and get on with the story, shall we?

* * *

**Simply Neurotic**

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Qualitative, My Dear Man.**

The fire, with its green flames crackled loudly in the silent room.

They had retired to his newly-repaired study after dinner: Draco, Blaise and Theo. It was customary for them to do so.

The silence that shrouded them, however, was entirely new.

Not unwelcome – but certainly not normal. Draco supposed they were all thinking about what had happened at dinner. With Granger. Her confession – or explanation, whatever you wanted to call it. It appeared as though they had something in common after all – if her words were to be taken at face value. Their mutual distrust and hatred for the current minister would become a solid foundation for them, Draco was sure of it.

Draco's eyes shifted over to his stoic, bespectacled friends sitting furthest away, closest to the fire. And the thought entered his head once more: what was the true nature of Theo's relationship with Hermione?

Blaise chose that moment to open his mouth. "I think we should risk it."

Malfoy slid his gaze over to Blaise, sitting next to him on the couch and arched an eyebrow. That was a peculiar thing to say, considering the times they were navigating. Especially considering the nature of _their_ involvement in things.

Blaise was silent though, apparently thinking that Draco should be able to derive his precise meaning from such vague words.

Theo, however, was the one to come to the rescue. Not taking his eyes from the flames, he offered, "He's talking about Hermione."

_Hermione? They were on a first name basis, were they?_

And although he could ponder that all night, the implications of _what_ he said, rather than _how_ he said it, caught on rather quickly.

Draco laughed abruptly, capturing the attention of both his friends. Blaise looked offended and angry, whereas Theo hardly seemed interested at all.

Downing the rest of his drink, Draco smiled at Blaise wolfishly. "She's gotten to you then? A few pretty words is all it takes for you to melt, is that it?"

Blaise scoffed. "Hardly. It just seems that she was rather sincere and honest about her feelings towards the Minister. I would think it would be in our best interests to have your soon-to-be wife on our side."

Draco focused once more on Theo. He assessed the man, before tipping his head towards him. "This is your doing," he warned. "You were the one to suggest it to begin with, now look what you've done."

Theo shrugged slightly. "I merely made a suggestion. I'm sure Blaise is fully capable of having his own opinions."

"Yeah," Blaise agreed. "Besides, wouldn't it be much better to have Granger get information for you, than your current informant?" He twirled the wine in his glass and frowned for a moment. "Although you have yet to tell us who that might be exactly."

Too right. Draco had no intention of telling them. That was one secret he wasn't too privy to share.

Blaise laughed after a moment, the tense look on Draco's face must have been amusing to him for some reason. "Cheer up mate. Granger will be required to keep the family secrets as soon as you're married." He clasped a hand over his chest dramatically. "She can't betray the Malfoy family by either word or deed."

A shudder ran through Draco at those words, and his eyes darted over to Theo whose shielded expression stirred something inside him. He narrowed his eyes and sat up abruptly.

Walking towards the door to his study, Draco felt a certain urgency build inside him.

Suspicion clawed at him. Doubt festered.

One, insidious thought lingered.

_No. Theo wouldn't betray me._

But as he neared the door, he realized that he truly couldn't be sure of anything.

Blaise called out, half in disbelief and half in amusement, "Where are you off to, it's only half eleven!"

He received no answer.

Draco's steps echoed loudly through the manor as he made his way to the second floor – to Granger's room.

Because in Blaise's words, he understood the odd exchange he had seen between Granger and Theo.

_She can't betray the Malfoy family by either word or deed._

Perhaps not by word or deed – but _thoughts_ were entirely different.

Anyone as well versed in the Dark Arts as Theo and himself understood this simple fact. Blaise apparently did not know the truth behind his own words.

Draco, however understood perfectly well.

Finding Granger stashed away in one of the Dark Arts sections in his library earlier that evening had been unusual enough. But he suddenly felt the sick stab of betrayal as he realized that Theo had given her a book from that very section.

'_This is the one you were looking for.'_

Perhaps Granger didn't know it, but Theodore Nott had given her the key to establishing her way around the Vow – he was dead certain of it.

**XXX**

Harry rounded the corner to find McGonagall walking towards him down the narrow hall. The expression on her face did nothing to ease the tension running through him. The fear.

A cold draft made him shiver, goose bumps raising his flesh.

When McGonagall was close enough he asked, "How is he?" His voice was hoarse and low, but managed to reverberate through the small space regardless. He had abandoned his mission the moment he got news that there had been _another_ compromised raid. One that Ron had gone on. One that had found him, bloodied and incoherent, seated atop a dead Death Eater. Of all people, it had been Neville Longbottom to have found him and got him back to safety. For that, Harry was indebted to his old classmate.

McGonagall, looking older and more tired than Harry had ever recalled seeing her, shook her head slowly, closing her eyes for a moment. "He will live, Mr. Potter. But at this point, I can't say that simply _living_ is enough."

Harry frowned. He was used to the vague rambling and mystic sage advice that Dumbledore had given when he was still alive, but he was rather used to straight forward answers and unflinching truth when it came to McGonagall.

She seemed to sense his unease as she gestured lightly over her shoulder. "Mr. Weasley is fine – physically, at least. He has, however, found himself at his wits end, I believe," she frowned and shook her head lightly. "I know we may have decided that keeping him in the dark about certain matters regarding Miss Granger was the ideal situation, but I have come to see that it was a mistake. Arrogance on our part."

An argument was on the tip of Harry's tongue before she beat him to it. Holding up an aged, pale hand, she continued. "It has affected him more than we know, and with your missions with Lupin, leading you further and further away from your friend, Mr. Potter, I think he may finally have found his breaking point. He is sick with worry over the both of you." She cast Harry a meaningful look. "He knows of your involvement with Miss Granger's marriage to Draco Malfoy, as I hinted at before. He does not however, understand your motivations. It may be time to let him in on the details, if for no other reason than to save him from himself."

Harry's throat convulsed slightly. He felt . . . selfish. Selfish and cruel and blinded by his own ambitions.

In his desire to end the war, he had made sacrifices – made concessions and did things that in any other time, he might have called unjust. And for what?

It was literally destroying those he cared about most – because of _his_ decisions.

Hermione was in constant fear, surrounded by the people she had sworn to hate – and Ron, poor Ron, was in the dark about everything; left to clutch and grab at straws, supposing the situation to be even more terrible than it truly was.

Harry had thought he was doing his friends a favor, leaving them ignorant of the details of the larger plan. But he could see now, that he was dead wrong.

Dragging one hand down his face, and breathing deeply through his nose, Harry lamented what he was about to do, and what had already past.

McGonagall nodded her head briskly. "The times are tough, and are only going to get worse from here on out before we can hope for them to get better. But you should know that you don't have to do it all on your own. Mr. Weasley has long since proven that he can be trusted with sensitive information. He is nothing, if not loyal."

Harry nodded his head. "Yes, we all are – loyal to the cause."

A sardonic smile stole over McGonagall's features. "No Mr. Potter, I don't doubt that. But perhaps consider, that Mr. Weasley's loyalty lies first and foremost with _you_." She walked past Harry towards the staircase leading downstairs. "I think you would do well to ensure you don't lose that trust."

Harry watched her descend the stairs, then looked back down the hall to where Ron's door was.

Raising his hand, he only hesitated a moment before rapping against it three times. He got no response, but entered anyways.

The room was pitch black, but the light from the hall offered Harry a moment to see where he was. It also told him that Ron was awake, and had most probably been waiting for him. Shutting the door, the room was once again plunged into complete darkness.

Harry took a few steps forward, and felt for the bed before sitting on the edge. There was a rustling from the sheets, as he heard Ron move about slightly. He sighed heavily and laid his head in his palms.

"Ron – I," he whispered.

"—Viktor's gone, you know," Ron said instead, cutting him off.

Harry shook his head lightly. "Yeah."

There was a long pause.

"Got to tell Hermione," Ron said once more, nearly choking on the words.

Harry stiffened. His resolve firmly in place, he said, "I've got to tell you something, Ron. Something to do with Hermione."

**XXX**

Malfoy didn't even bother knocking before he opened the door to Hermione's bedchambers, although it seemed odd to him that she would leave it unlocked in the first place. Perhaps another show of trust? Malfoy frowned at the idea. Suspicion still clouded his mind.

Poised there in the doorway, he was prepared for a verbal barrage over his impromptu visit, only . . . it never came.

Cocking his head to the side, Malfoy approached the bed staged in the center of the room, much like his own. Frowning through the dim lighting of her bedside lamp, Malfoy leaned over the edge of the bed, eyes flickering over the assortment of parchment and books that littered the bedspread – pillows randomly situated throughout the massive pile.

And then the pile shifted slightly, and Malfoy drew back as Hermione's face emerged from beneath the comforter. Her hair was mussed and splayed across her features, the flickering light of the candles playing eerily across the soft angles of her face.

A small sigh escaped her lips as she situated herself slightly towards him.

Malfoy watched her for a long moment, wondering if she were playing a game. Her deep, even breathing continued.

Grabbing for a piece of parchment near her headboard, Malfoy glanced over her blunt, scribbled notes.

His eyebrows shot up. Possible counter-charms for the Medicious hex – all carefully plotted out and derived entirely from the information she got from Dark Arts materials.

Perhaps she was finally understanding the war she was fighting. Fight fire with fire, as the saying goes. A small grin stole across his features.

He knew the trouble the Medicious hex was causing. It was one of the Dark Lord's more _interesting_ creations. He was particularly fond of using it on Muggles.

Setting it aside, Malfoy looked over the assortment of texts surrounding Granger, but the green one he saw Nott give her earlier was nowhere in sight. Cursing his luck, he unbuttoned his suit jacket and draped it over the headboard and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

He paused for a moment and considered what he was about to do, crawling onto his soon to be wife's bed while she slept. It was a preposterous situation (mainly because it was Hermione Granger that he was dealing with), and it occurred to him that it might be easier to simply wake her and ask for the book instead. But then she'd be able to dodge him – stall for time.

No, searching for the book while she slept was simply the easier of the two options. And besides that, he didn't want her to know he had been there to begin with.

Let her think he had no interest in her exchange with Theo.

Quietly, he knelt on the edge of her bed, leaned over her small form, and began to softly pat down the bedspread around her. Frowning when he was still unable to locate it, he froze, his breath caught in his chest.

"Draco," Hermione sighed lightly, rolling onto her back beneath him. She inhaled deeply and settled once more, her breathing going back to its previous state. Her lips twitched slightly.

Malfoy slowly exhaled the breath he had held when she murmured his name, crouched over her the way he was, he could only guess at what her reaction would have been had she actually awoken. And then, there was something else that stirred inside of him upon hearing her say his name that way – delicately, breathless and throaty.

He had been right, of course. Granger did dream of him. He hadn't been lying when he told her that he'd heard her saying his name in her sleep before. His lips twitched at the thought of peaking into her head as she slept, to see what she was really dreaming about – but he'd crossed enough boundaries for one day.

Soon perhaps, he'd take advantage of his Legilimens skills – but not tonight. Not when they seemed so close to _actually_ coming to an understanding.

_Trust . . . _the word echoed in his head. Granger had planted it there.

He leaned closer to her, his face inches from her own, and considered the woman – free from scowls and frowns and biting looks.

And there, peeking out from under the pillow she was resting on, was the green book he was looking for.

Suddenly remembering why he was there – the reason for his pursuit of that particular book drew his lips into a deep frown.

If he was correct, Theodore's betrayal would be another blow that he wasn't sure he could stomach at the moment.

But he needed to know.

Reaching down, the book slipped easily from beneath Granger and it fell open in his hands to the page she must have been working on before she fell asleep. A piece of parchment was tucked in-between pages forty-nine and fifty, the chapter entitled: _The Womping Willow._

Turning the book over in his hands, the title confused him for a moment. What in the hell had the _Abridged History of Hogwarts_ been doing in the Dark Arts section of his library?

Relief coursed through him – intense and welcome, and he tucked the book back under her pillow. Standing beside her bed, his eyes wandered over to the parchment he had looked at previously. Hesitating only for a moment, he picked up one of the many quills lying on the table beside her bed and examined the parchment more closely.

The sound of the quill scratching against the parchment filled the air, mingling with Granger's soft snores.

Satisfied with his work, he returned the items. Casting one last look over the sleeping witch, he gathered his discarded jacket and left her room.

**XXX**

The moments ticked by; the anticipation still filled her lungs. Hermione cautiously opened one eye, and then the other.

Rising up onto her elbows, Hermione quickly glanced around the room but Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. Exhaling heavily, she collapsed back against the pile of pillows.

Lying there, prone and unable to see what Malfoy was doing, was probably the greatest test of her restraint yet. Being able to hear every rustle of his clothes, every sigh or sharp inhalation of breath – but not to be able to _see . . . _

Hermione shook her head slightly. Merlin's beard. And when she had felt the bed dip as he got on it, leaning over her so closely she could smell him? She groaned aloud.

But she had done what needed to be done. She had deceived him – she knew he'd come looking for the book. It wouldn't have taken him long.

Hermione reached under the edge of the bed, stretching her fingers until she snagged the edge of the shoe she had hidden there. Pulling her wand from her waistband, she murmured the transfiguration charm to return the shoe to its original form.

Bringing the small potions text in front of her face, she smiled tensely at the green cover – much the same size and shape of the text she left under her pillow as a decoy.

She knew there was a reason Theo had chosen that particular text to slip her the note. There were no casual coincidences when dealing with that man.

She just needed the time to figure out _what_ was in the text that Malfoy didn't want her to see.

Her gaze shifted to the bedside table, and to the piece of parchment that she had been working over before he had arrived. Curiosity pulled at her.

In the margins of her notes, his elegant handwriting was sparse but to the point. Hermione's eyebrows shot up.

The Medicious hex was a foul, perverse bit of magic, capable of insurmountable cruelty – and therefore a favorite of the Dark Lord and his followers.

It was, academically speaking – a brilliant bit of sorcery, carefully crafted and incredibly temperamental. The slightest deviation from the intended incantation, or the wrong flourish of wand would alter the magic – leaving the intended victim with an incurable condition. A rupturing of the inner organs – slow, at first. But that was perhaps a small favor. Performed correctly, and the effect was a literal explosion – quick, but no doubt torturous. The Dark Lord's followers, the majority of the them being unskilled or untrained in the proper use of the spell, would give the victim a fighting chance. The Dark Lord, however, did not.

With the proper counter-spell, even the most advanced cases could be stopped – or so Hermione thought.

Draco Malfoy, the selfish, egotistical megalomaniac that she always made him out to be . . . had actually given her the cure.

He had made corrections and suggestions, scrawled in-between her notes and suppositions. Direct and to the point, without a hint of his usual mockery.

Hermione slumped back into her bed, letting the parchment lay across her chest.

She had been working relentlessly on the counter-spell for that ever since Colin Creevey's brother had literally exploded in front of her eyes – the boy had hung on for four excruciating days.

It would be so easy to be furious at that moment – to go and confront Malfoy about _why_ he would have knowledge of the counter-spell, and not share it before that moment – but what good would that do?

She had it now — that was all that mattered.

Tomorrow was another day.

Yes, tomorrow.

She had an appointment to keep – King's Cross, 8am sharp.

Theodore Nott would be waiting.

* * *

AN: Okay, so thanks for sticking with this for a year - you guys are pretty dang awesome. This chapter, if it feels kind of odd or jerky, it's because it's written a full year after the rest of the story - all of the plotting and scheming that I had previously been doing, kinda fell away from me, so it was incredibly difficult to try and get back into the swing of things. This chapter in particular was difficult from the start, but I'm as satisfied with it as I can be. As pre usual, it's not beta-read, so it's likely to have errors - forgive me in that. And let me know what you think. Things between Hermione and Draco are about to get a bit complicated, but I think it'll be interesting. Remember: this is a slow building romance. Stick with it. :)

Jess


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